


Archipelago

by Turtle_ier



Series: Something Else is Out There [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Injury, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Distrust, Fantasy, Horror, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Character Tags to be Added - Freeform, Separation Anxiety, Supernatural Elements, Survival Horror, Suspense, Suspicions, Temporary Character Death, Trust Issues, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, realistic minecraft au, sap nap is too anxious for his own good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: Sapnap, George and Dream live together in a fragile alliance, and while George keeps insisting that Dream is his friend - he saved George's life, after all - Sapnap can't help but feel apprehensive. But when a mysterious stranger is found in the forest, and George disappears without a word, Sapnap and Dream must work to find their lost friend before danger does.Little do they know that the forest has more than just people inside it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Something Else is Out There [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969750
Comments: 51
Kudos: 196





	1. Introduction: By the Waterside

Fireflies lit the path Sapnap took towards the bulrushes, their flickering yellow pinpricks of light making their presence known each time he brushed past the grass tips and disturbed their resting places. The night was cool with the promise of a foggy morning, and he was still half warm from the jog he had taken to the waterside, his footsteps sure, his pace easy.

George and Dream were waiting for him back at their houses, tending to the bonfire as George still got anxious around darkness, but Sapnap was fine with its presence. He didn’t mind it, for the most part, so long as it wasn't infested with monsters or too dark to see where he was going, but he could understand what made him weary. 

George's description of their past world was enough to ensure at least that. 

But it was this world now, Sapnap’s own world, where it was late spring and the rivers south of their home had defrosted, and where they could walk around during the night time to said rivers to collect fresh water. The autumn and beginning of winter he spent alone hadn't been easy, but then again it was a poor time to start regardless of who he was with, but now he had George and his new friend. They might get pretty far here, so long as George didn't go running off again. 

He heard the water before he arrived, and turning the corner by the old pine tree he shoved his foot into the cool liquid before he saw it. 

"Aw, c'mon," he grumbled, pulling out his foot from the mud with a squelch, "just my luck."

He huffed but refused to linger, instead grabbing the handle and bottom of the bucket to dunk it into the water. It gurgled and he pulled it back out again, lugging it onto the bank like a dead fish and crushing a few reeds with its weight. The crickets were silent that night, and they hadn't sounded out all evening either, but Sapnap wasn't really sure why. It might have just been because of the evening being cooler than the past few days, or maybe some other change in the weather.

Across the water a shift in the bulrush caught his attention and his head snapped up to look, but all he saw for a moment was the dark spaces between the trees and the fireflies going from one reed stalk to the other, lazily fading and reappearing in his eye line. He was willing to dismiss it, going so far as to stand with the bucket of water in one hand before he glanced up again.

In the bulrushes, half hidden by the fireflies and darkness, something that looked like a leg retreated behind one of the witch-hazel trees on the other side of the river, near indistinguishable from the rest of the roots, fibres and reeds lining the water's edge. 

Sapnap’s eyes widened, then he frowned, and standing up straight he called out across the water to whoever was on the opposite side. 

"Who’s there?"

He didn't mean to sound so forward, nor aggressive, but either way the other person didn't seem to take too kindly to what he said and tumbled, still too difficult to see, away from him. He strained his eyes to see them, but all he caught a glance of was the foliage swaying or being brushed aside – no further sightings of who or what it was. 

Standing and watching a moment more, he turned and trudged back up the bank, the bucket of water unsteady and sloshing from side to side, but Sapnap wasn’t perturbed. Weird things happened in forests all the time, weird noises too, and it usually just meant a dumb animal had strayed too far into the ‘human area’ they made for themselves. Deer or elk did often wander into their area of the woods, less often as of late, but it wasn't unheard of. In darkness, anything could look like anything else. 

Sapnap was sure that it was just a bear or something getting a midnight drink, even if he couldn't identify what kind of animal it was with any kind of certainty. 

Your eyes saw things in the darkness, after all, even when there's nothing there. 


	2. Chapter 1: Between the Ribs

Since it was early summer, they had to clear the ground around their settlement to stop the cow parsley and buddleia from taking over the whole space, but even still Sapnap had to hold the plants back as he carried the bucket of water back to the bonfire site. It was sticky, close, as he went further from the waterside, most likely from the rainfall that morning or the pollen of the plants, whose smell became stronger with each frond he brushed.

But he could smell the wood-fire scent in the air, getting stronger as he got closer to the settlement. The fireflies faded when the smell got stronger, and as he ducked under a fern, the light was completely gone – Only the guidance of having made the same trip a thousand times before assured him that he was going the right way – and the sap-wet and sweet leaves brushed his cheeks as he finally emerged into the light. 

Their settlement was maybe fifteen metres or so across, with three buildings standing tall and proud (for the most part) and a small shed made from wood with a few chickens inside it, too. The oldest of the three cobbled-together buildings was the one Sapnap had made before George and Dream arrived, with moss creeping up the sides from the husk of a ruin it used to be. The newer bits Sapnap had added on after he chose to settle there were closer to stone bricks, with the second floor having both walls and floor made of spruce wood. The wood wasn't of a particularly high standard, as it warped and had gaps from where it had aged in unusual ways, but it would just have to do for now. There would always be time to fix it later.

George's house was made almost entirely of stone brick, with the only exception to this being the floors and the roof, which he had made from birch, hauled over from the west side of the spruce forest where the colossal and dark trees gave way newer, leafier ones. The house lacked glass in the holes for windows, seeing as they hadn't found enough sand to be frivolous with it yet and reserved most of it for jars and bottles. Inside George’s house was a mishmash of half-made tools and broken ones, but the outside was relatively neat with how he refused to let ivy grow up the sides or allow clover to cover the doorstep. 

Dream’s house was in a sorry state after he blew out a wall not five days before, but previously to that it had been quite nice – a single story with a fenced off roof, ensuring a vantage point if he felt the need for it and a suitable place to practice archery. The building was made of spruce pillars with cobblestones filling in the gaps, although some walls were darker from where he hadn't waterproofed it and it had started to get mouldy. The buddleia had started growing up the sides, but Dream wasn't susceptible to damp or cold or even thrust in the same way they were. He just needed light, food, and maybe somewhere to relax (but not always sleep) overnight. Dream tended to spend most of his time at George’s house anyway.

"Took you long enough," George said, his voice not quite playing off his genuine concern as he had hoped. 

Sapnap had stopped mentioning it a while ago. It stopped arguments if he didn't mention his friend's new found anxious tendencies. 

"Yeah, yeah, someone's got to do it," he said as he placed the bucket of water down and looked to where it had spilt down the outside of his trouser leg, "now look at me, I’m all wet. Tomorrow morning you better go and make up for it."

"By getting all wet?" George asked, and he could see an eyebrow rise behind his scuffed-up glasses.

"By earning your keep," he said as George stuck his tongue out at him, "you don't do anything other than farm, make tools, and look sour."

"Dream doesn't mind hard work."

"And all he does is hunt and look at you like you planted every tree in this damn forest. I do all the building, all the rock collecting. If you weren't so good at making tools I would have kicked you out years ago."

George tried to look offended, but Sapnap knew all his tells. The corner of his mouth was ever so slightly tilted upwards, and his hip moved so that it was sticking out on one side. In the light of the bonfire, George's glasses shone like jewels, jet or obsidian, and his blue shirt was washed out and grey looking. Sapnap knew he wasn't doing much better – His undershirt was in desperate need of a wash since he wasn't used to the summer heat yet, and the grey T-shirt over top was stained green with the pine sap of the tree he cut down earlier. Dream seemed pretty normal the last time Sapnap saw him, which was that morning, but still the other man (man? He should probably check) was half caked in mud and his jacket was filled with needles from thistles. It wasn't so bad compared to some of the messes Dream found himself in, but if George had turned up in the same condition then he would have questioned it. Dream was just like that – a whole mess. 

"Where is Dream, anyway?" Sapnap asked, looking at the fire.

"Hunting, I think. He caught sight of an elk or something and smelt blood. You know how he is."

Sapnap made a noise, but it wasn't quite in agreement or approval. 

"We don't really need more meat though right now, even if it is the only thing he eats."

"Always good to have extra."

"Not when the extra goes off," he pointed with a thumb to the far side of their territory, to where the burial hole of animal parts and onion skins was, hidden behind an outcrop of cow parsley and ferns, "have you seen it recently? There's only so much salting and jarring we can do."

George just made a face and chose not to say anything further on the matter. He threw another log on the bonfire, making it spark up and flare before the bark started to split and turn brittle, darkening. 

“You don't mind though, right?”

Sapnap hummed a little, but George didn't seem any less anxious, so he said, “Yeah. It’s fine so long as animals still come to this part of the forest and all that. I’ll have a problem if this becomes a bit of a black spot for wildlife like in our old world.” 

“You and I should be okay though. The turnips are coming along nicely and the barley should be ready to go in maybe thirty days’ time. Did you check on the onions?”

“Been too busy.”

“Well, last I saw, we could probably take them out in a couple of days. Pickle them, jar them, you know.” 

“Does Dream really only eat raw meat?” Sapnap asked, and George snapped his head up to look at him, not expecting the question.

“Yes?”

“And you haven't seen him try anything else?” 

“No, not since the jerkied meat. He said it gave him a stomach ache.”

Sapnap hummed, “do you think we could ask him to have like a bit of apple or something?”

“Sapnap,” George said, looking directly at him now, “what is with you? Just take his word for it, or mine. I saw his teeth, he’s got a jaw like a shark.”

He sighed. 

“I know, it’s just difficult. Since he only eats fresh stuff and keeps going for boar or fox or deer, whatever, the population might not recover, you know? Does he dislike hare?”

A pause.

“I’ll ask him,” George said, voice closed off.

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.” 

They stood, a shoulder width apart and looking at the bonfire like it would tell them all the answers they’d been asking themselves since they got there. Sapnap suspected that some of George’s were along the same lines as his own, like about whether or not there were others from their previous world out there in this one, or if they were all alone. But these days it was hard to read George, even more so than usual with just his dark glasses, but ever since Dream woke up and he and George had less time to spend with one another as the business of spring and summer came to them, it felt like he changed. In some ways it was better – George was less shrewd, more careful when it came to Sapnap’s feelings, but he was at the same time clingy, reliant on him and Dream not only for comfort but for advice with things he was confident doing before. Going out into the woods alone was a big thing that he avoided, which made it tough for him to collect as many resources as Sapnap or Dream, even if he did try to farm and housekeep to make up for it.

Sapnap got it, he really tried his hardest to, but sometimes he couldn't help but worry. Dream wasn't a great conversationalist until he was talking about plants or animals, but when Sapnap tried to talk to him about even that he closed off. He was all over the place as well, energetic and restless, scrambling up trees and sliding back down again. It just made him wonder what their interactions had been like before the winter, after Dream had actually talked to George and before they had died. 

It had taken two seasons for George to even consider him a friend, and Dream had achieved it in less than twelve days. 

He could do little else but wonder. 

“George,” Sapnap asked, and the other man turned his head to look at him, “Do you think Dream dislikes me?” 

“No! No,” he hurried to assure him, “I think he’s just. You know, he’s awkward. He was telling me when he met me about how I was the first proper, like, human he’d spoken to.”

“Other than the other-Dream, you mean?” 

“Yeah. He was the first human he met.” 

“He didn't really meet him though.”

“Dream isn't going to kill you, Sapnap.”

“I know! I know. No, I know,” he hurried to say, “but he seems so confident with you, and while he does, like, talk to me, it’s not a _conversation_.”

George shrugged with one shoulder. An owl hooted somewhere above them, and Sapnap looked up into the clearing in the canopy above them where pinpricks of stars were scattered across the deep blue sky. He couldn't see the owl, and while he kept an ear out to listen George spoke up again.

“Sapnap,” he said, voice having gone softer, “I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, but please just listen to me. What I saw back there, what he and I went through, I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Ever. But to ‘get’ him or to even ‘get’ me you would have to go through it, and I really, genuinely hope that you won't. I’m sorry.”

“Are you telling me you and Dream have, like, a _bond_ now because you both saw some shit?”

Sapnap's words came out harsher than he had intended, and George turned to face him fully, a frown on his face and the light of the bonfire reflecting on the left side of his glasses, but just as he opened his mouth, a shout came from the north side of their camp. 

“George!” 

They turned, but before either of them could move, Dream charged through the tall weeds enclosing their settlement. The side of his shirt was bloodied, his mask askew, and neither of them were looking at him. They only had eyes for the bedraggled and half-dead person he was barely holding up, whose feet dragged groves into the soft earth. 

Sapnap immediately came over to the other side of the person and helped Dream hoist the person – the man – up from the other arm, but the man cried out as he jostled the crossbow bolt stuck between two of his lower ribs. Sapnap hissed out an apology, but Dream was already dragging both him and the man forward to Sapnap’s house, which was the most well stocked in supplies and surfaces to lay the man out flat. 

“Where was he?” George was asking, but Dream didn't immediately respond, helping them through the doorway and kicking the chair out the way to make room for them to come up to the table. Awkwardly, they maneuvered the person into a sort of half-sitting position, then lay him back so they could see more clearly the situation at hand.

George gasped. 

With gangly legs, two pairs of hands with filthy fingernails, a yellow jumper and a long, dark blue Macintosh style coat, none other than Wilbur lay before them dying. His eyes flickered between Sapnap and Dream, and while he tried to look at George too, all he could do was watch as he left his field of vision to get to the medical supplies Sapnap kept in one of his cluttered chests.

George threw his glasses onto the table, already rubbing his hands down with witch hazel to clean them without water. 

“Where was he, Dream?” Sapnap repeated the question.

“The woods, you know that bit?” He moved his arms, jerked them, to try and make his point, “There’s the big ditch and the one birch tree we cut down, and the berry bushes. He was against a tree. Before he passed out he told me to be quiet.”

“What? Why?”

“I don't know, I couldn't ask, he was being dumb and passed out.”

Sapnap helped George pull Wilbur’s shirt up, exposing a nasty looking bruise on his right side and the crossbow bolt lodged in his left. They couldn't remove the coat without disturbing him further, so George pulled out one of the sharp knives they used for fish and began to cut away the wool of the shirt, cutting it cleanly until it got to the area which was matted with blood, soaked through and dark. Dream reached above the table and turned the lantern up, and ignited another. Even with the improved visibility, George’s hand brushed against the bolt and Wilbur moaned, his head turning to the side and his eyes slipping closed. 

“Get the bucket,” Sapnap told Dream, and when he hesitated, “Go! It’s by the bonfire, we need water!” 

The door opened, closed, and Sapnap went to the other side of the room to where they kept their gardening things. Dream came through the door with the bucket of water, held in both arms like a precious artifact, and Sapnap pulled out the pair of secateurs he had been looking for. Dream’s face, what little of it they could see, grew pale. 

“You’re not using that on him, are you?”

“Shut up. Put that down.”

Dream did as he was told and Sapnap washed the remaining grass stains from the tool, before bringing it to Wilbur’s side and waiting for George to compress the wound with his hands. A small blob of blood came from it and seeped between his fingers, but for a tense moment none of them said anything, with Sapnap bringing the secateurs to the very bottom of the crossbow bolt. As gently as he could, he cut the protruding bit of wood from the wound, leaving only the damaged flesh and the arrowhead inside. 

He stepped back with the now removed piece of arrow, letting George come closer with their actual, designated medical supplies. Wilbur didn't resist as George raised his head and forced some of their pink regeneration potion into him, with the added numbing effects of dock leaves in it, and then let him lay back as he grabbed a pair of long pliers.

Sapnap turned away briefly, letting George get on with his mother-henning that he used to so often when it was Sapnap’s turn to get into fights. He was never squeamish about blood – killing your own animals ensured that a fear of it was impossible – but having to remove stuff from bodies, to try and save rather than end, was always difficult for him to stomach. Dream seemed to be having a similar issue, since he propped the front door open and left to stand in front of the bonfire, within hearing distance should they call his name, but far enough not to see or hear (or smell or taste) the blood. 

The bleeding had mostly stopped now. He couldn't see it running down Wilbur’s pale side anymore and he watched as George pulled the tip of the arrow from his body and dumped it on the table, the barbed head of it seeping with blood but no longer inside him. Sapnap’s shoulders sagged with relief. It seemed that there would be no casualty that night. 

“God,” George said, and he rested his head on his forearms, carefully avoiding his hands, “I thought we were alone out here.”

Sapnap swallowed and said, “I did too.”

George raised his head and pushed the remains of Wilbur’s shirt to one side, the threads of wool sticking to his still wet fingers, before he dunked his hands into the bucket of water Dream brought them. He then pulled the spider silk bandages from the medical supplies he’d dug out earlier and gestured for Sapnap to come over. In silence, they leaned him up and pulled Wilbur’s coat off his shoulders, then, after pressing a wad of cotton over the wound, they wrapped multiple bandages around his torso until it was securely in place. Wilbur was looking more alive now, a slight colour returning to his cheeks and his eyes slightly less sunken, but he hadn't woken up from when George left his line of sight. He wasn't completely out of the woods yet, it seemed. 

“Did Dream answer?” George asked after they lay him down on the table again and draped his coat over him. 

“What?”

“About where he found him?”

“Oh yeah, uhm,” Sapnap strained to reach the lantern above them, “he said beside the ditch, you know the place with the berries? He said it all weirdly though. It's to the west.” 

“What do you mean he was weird about it?”

Sapnap sighed. “You know that thing kids do when they're telling the truth but they're telling it so badly that it feels like a lie?”

George just looked at him blankly. 

“Dream wouldn't lie,” he said, his voice leaving no room for an argument.

“I know. I believed him.”

They stood on either side of Sapnap’s table, of Wilbur’s bed, and looked down at him for a moment. 

“He looked established,” George said quietly. 

Sapnap nodded. Despite the dirt and the injuries, he was pretty healthy, with no visible dehydration or hunger, and his clothes didn't look damaged or worn like he had been on the move for weeks or days at a time. If he had been carrying a bag with him (they really had to get more details out of Dream) then they might have just been able to call it a day trip, but the crossbow bolt in a world without any monsters seen so far was sending warning bells through Sapnap’s head.

“What do you think shot him?” He asked, feigning casual and hoping George wouldn't realise his genuine concern. 

“Uhm, pillager?” George’s voice didn't sound convincing, but Sapnap entertained the idea anyway.

“We haven't seen any monsters so far though.” 

“We’ve seen spiders.”

“The non-aggressive ones the size of an apple at most, though, not the big ones that bite.”

George shrugged, not putting any effort into the motion. 

“It’s… probably just something.”

“Just something?”

“A villager gone wild?”

“Maybe, or– “

A voice croaked, dry and irritated, and they looked down at Wilbur just in time for him to speak.

“Fundy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Currently, I have written 9 out of 10 chapters for this fic, but many of them still need some heavy editing before I'm cool with posting them. Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos so far, and I hope you've enjoyed it :) 
> 
> I'll post another chapter, at the latest, on Thursday next week.


	3. Chapter 2: Blades of Grass

Their heads snapped down to look down at Wilbur, whose mouth was slightly ajar after having spoken. His lips were cracked and his eyes looked tired and sore even when closed, but nevertheless they watched as Wilbur regained consciousness, slowly, gradually, and like he wanted to do anything other than wake up. He was dragged from rest like someone who was dragged away from death; in agony.

Thankfully the crossbow bolt had been angled downwards, like Wilbur hadn't been anticipating the attack and it had come from above, so it missed his lungs but may have still hit his diaphragm. It was too early to tell for certain, but with another potion or two Wilbur would probably be okay. 

Sapnap wasn’t sure what he would do if it turned out that he wouldn’t – if it turned out to be his first and last contact with someone other than George and Dream.

“Dream said he found Wilbur to the west,” Sapnap remembered from their panicked moments earlier, and stated it if only to fill the silence. He didn't really know what to do with Wilbur’s whisper of their thought-dead friend. 

George hummed, “I haven't been that far west. Just up to the ravine north-west.” 

Sapnap nodded, and while he didn't want to say anything at first, he felt the silence linger like the hand of a ghost on his chest. 

“I went as far as the actual silver birch forest to collect some wheat seeds that time, and some saplings, but only really up to the border. It’s less than a day away from here, but you can't get there and back without staying out overnight.” 

Wilbur’s head shifted and they went quiet, watching, listening. His mouth parted slightly but he said nothing, just letting out a quiet breath. With no further movement George spoke up again.

“Do you think it would be worthwhile going over there when Wilbur is healed?”

“I think we need confirmation before we make any bold moves,” Sapnap crossed his arms and leant back on the crafting table, “He might have just been wondering, not even with anyone else, and went around our camp before Dream found him.”

“What do we do if he’s not alone? He did say–“

“We still wait for him to wake up,” Sapnap really didn't want to argue, not when the atmosphere was tense enough as it was, nor when George had a thin sliver of blood on his cheek from their emergency surgery. He went on, “there’s no point taking action when we don't even know where to take it. You know how it is with dreams. You used to sleep talk all the time.”

“I guess that’s true,” George said, and he put one hand up near his face, nearly covering his face, “I’m just worried, what if Fundy _is_ out there? They were travelling together and got separated?” 

Sapnap shrugged, not looking at George. He could see Dream sitting in front of the fire from out of his window, his legs curled up to his chest as he either let them have their moment, or struggled to not enter the house with questions. If he had to guess it would probably be something along the lines of, ‘who is he?’ or ‘what will we do with him?’ but Sapnap didn’t have the patience for them, at least not now. The tension was still held like a violin string, taught and ready to snap.

A lot of Dream’s questions were more rudimentary, easy to answer but difficult to give context to. How do you tell someone about ten years or more of close friendship, of communities forged from nothing, or of entire civilisations they had built becoming lost when Dream hadn't seen any of those things? Dream hadn't even seen glass bottles until Sapnap showed off his make-shift snowdrop wine, and glass was something people often made on their first few days of settling in.

Before he could think about it further though, a shift from the table caught his attention. Wilbur turned his head, his hand grasping his coat like a line as he glared at Sapnap through his long eyelashes, trying to register what he was seeing through a blur. Neither he nor George said anything as they let Wilbur take his surroundings in, but then his eyes went wide. He struggled to lean up, George appearing beside him as he hissed and clutched his wound, and Wilbur slumped back onto the table, breathless. 

“Dude,” Sapnap said, coming over to him, “Can you hear me? Are you, like, properly awake? You're not going to faint again right?”

Wilbur’s throat bobbed. He wheezed, “what?”

“We found you in the woods with a crossbow bolt in you,” George explained, still holding his hand on the coat covering Wilbur, pressing down on the bandage in case he tore it open again with a sudden movement. 

Wilbur squeezed his eyes shut but didn't attempt to move, and when he opened them again he asked, voice still rough, “water?”

Sapnap handed him a bottle, and George helped him lean up to drink it, before he lay back down and looked a little bit more human. 

“God,” he said, “So, you found me?”

“Our friend did,” Sapnap said, “he’s outside. Dream.”

Wilbur nodded. 

“He wasn't the one that shot me, was he?”

“No,” George was quick to say, and Sapnap’s eyes flickered to him, “He wasn't carrying a crossbow. Do you remember what the thing looked like?”

“That shot me?”

They nodded.

“I’m going to sound insane,” he said and reached up with one hand to rub over his eyes, his fingernails black from dirt and red tinged, “but I swore that it was Fundy. I said his name and he shot me.” 

“What makes you say it was Fundy?” Sapnap pulled over a chair so that he wasn't leaning over Wilbur, but George remained standing, his hand on Wilbur’s side. 

“The fox head was a pretty dead giveaway, and the coat. It was like they were Fundy just… not. I was wondering if he had followed me out here.”

“Followed you?”

Wilbur’s head tilted to the side so that he could look more clearly at Sapnap, who blinked back in return, the question playing on his mind before George beat him to the punch.

“Are there others?”

His voice sounded desperate, a little tight with hope but controlled in the way George cultivated for himself so often. Sapnap worried for a moment that his own voice would come across the same way, no longer so indifferent, but he dared not say anything in case it turned out that Wilbur was, in fact, alone.

“Yeah,” Wilbur said, and the mood in the room shifted, “yeah, there’s me, Phil, Fundy, Techno, Tommy and Tubbo in a birch forest. There’s hardly any food out there – the animals aren't a fan of how exposed it is – so I came out here to hunt.” 

“Did you come from the south side of the river?” Sapnap couldn't help but ask, his moment by the waterside earlier coming back to him, “I thought I saw someone, or at least something big, moving in the reeds on the other side.” 

“Why didn't you mention that?” George asked.

“No,” Wilbur was quick to respond, “just from the west, heading east. I didn’t see a river, is it around there?” 

“It didn't seem important mentioning it. I just thought I saw something, is all. Did you see them back at your base?”

“Didn't seem important? Sapnap, it might have been a _person_.”

“No, only when I got here. It was like a split second.”

“I get it might have been a person, I didn't think it was.”

“Not a person, a, you know, _person.”_

“I thought it was Fundy, not going to lie, but I guess it could have been a human wearing a mask or something.”

“That’s true, but George meant–“

“Sapnap.”

“What?”

George shook his head. Wilbur looked between them. The bonfire crackled outside as Dream threw another log onto it, and the room flared up with the added light. Sapnap could feel his frown deepen. 

“Okay, so,” Sapnap said, changing the subject, “we kind of thought we were alone out here.”

“Did you spawn together?”

“No,” George said, “I was in a different world at first where I met Dream. When we died we came here.” 

“That must have been tough,” Wilbur said, but he wasn't directing it at either of them in particular.

George nodded, “it was.”

“For both of you though,” Wilbur was forcing himself to sit up again, and Sapnap went to help him up. George stood back and gave him space as Wilbur dangled his legs over the edge of the table, his feet just barely touching the floor despite him being seated. 

“Settling in this place must have been tough if you appeared in late autumn like the rest of us did. How did you deal with the winter? Did you just hunt a lot for food?”

Sapnap blinked at him, confused.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You had Dream right?” 

George seemed to be distracted until Wilbur looked at him.

“Uh-huh.”

“And here it was just you?”

Sapnap nodded, and he couldn't tell what emotion seeped into his voice, “just me.” 

Wilbur went on to talk about Dream, asking George questions when Sapnap wasn't forthcoming with answers, and he took a moment to think to himself, watching the glimmer of the fire through the window, and Dream’s figure passing back and forth in front of it. In the light of the bonfire his own home looked different, with the lanterns above them barely producing enough light to read by but still bright enough to see. The fire from outside glowed orange, scattering across the chests and crafting tables in the front room and making the wood panelling on the back wall seem lighter, while the other three stone walls were shadowed and dark. He could smell smoke; the air tasted of it, seeped, of wood smoke. 

“Should I get more water?” Sapnap spoke up, and tilted his head towards the dirtied bucket of water beside the door, “you’ll need to change bandages and stuff, I don't mind heading out again.”

“Are you sure?” George asked, and Sapnap hated his glasses at that moment, which disguised what his eyes were doing.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just need… I need a second. I’ll get some water.” 

He stood, not looking at George or Wilbur as he scooped up the bucket of now dirty water and left his own house, and Dream looked up at him from around the other side of the bonfire, his mask catching the light. They stood opposite one another for a moment, just looking, but as Sapnap turned to take the path back to the river, between his and George’s house, Dream came around the bonfire and walked just behind him, immediately asking questions.

“Someone from your old world?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he moving here?”

“Not sure.”

“What’s going to happen with him?”

“Don’t know.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Wilbur.”

“Just Wilbur?”

“Wilbur Soot, but call him Wilbur.” 

“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. Wilbur.” 

“Something wrong with that?”

“No. George just didn't mention him in the other world. He mentioned others, but no names. Like this guy who fished, and this guy who wasn't human but was a good fighter. He mentioned you.”

“By name?”

“Yes.”

“I’m honoured.” 

“Cool. Where are you going now?” 

“The river, we need more water.”

“You just got water.”

“Dream,” Sapnap stopped, “please. We know basically as much as you do. There’s, like, no plans, we’re waiting to see what Wilbur is doing, or how quickly he heals because he really shouldn't be moving around right now. And I have to get water because this,” he held up the bucket, “is dirty. We don't drink dirty water if we can help it.” 

Dream, thankfully, grew quiet. They brushed through the groundcover, over a fallen log that marked the halfway point to the river and under a particularly daunting fern, which stretched just low enough for Sapnap to duck under it and for Dream to have it hit him in the face. The fireflies had gone, and the evening had grown colder as the midnight hour grew closer. If Sapnap had to guess, he might have even assumed it had been and gone, but nevertheless he and Dream made their way through the darkness by memory alone, which would have made him anxious if not for Dream being so close behind, before the faint sound of trickling water drew them both closer. 

His foot sunk into the mud again. 

“Shit.” 

“Where?”

“No, an exclamation.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

Wiggling his foot free, Sapnap stood on the same bank as before and tossed the water downstream, letting it slosh in the river and move away as he dunked the bucket under again. Before he lifted himself, however, he looked up and over the reeds on the other bank, where he had seen the fleeting glance of something, or someone, earlier. He struggled to put the thing he saw onto the canvas of dark greens and blues before him, where he could hardly tell the difference between where the water ended and the plants began, and all it did was make him more confused. What _was_ it he saw earlier? Did he see anything at all?

“Hey, Dream.”

“Mm?”

“Do you think you can cross the river?”

“It’s shallow enough,” Dream had already stepped forward so that his boots were in the mud, and seeing as they were made of some kind of waterproof leather, he wasn't feeling the cold liquid yet. “Why? Do you want to cross?”

“I thought I saw something there earlier, I wanted to check but didn't want to soak my shoes.”

“Huh,” he said, and began to walk across.

He reached the other side in a few seconds and parted the bulrushes to get onto the bank where Sapnap could only really make out the milky-white of his mask among the shadows. He looked around at the other bank, then at the trees above him, and finally the floor.

“There’s footprints,” he said, voice interested but not particularly invested. 

Sapnap perked up, “huh?”

“Footprints.”

“What kind?”

“Like really small shoes. No, like paw prints, I think. wait–“

Sapnap stood, and if he didn't have the bucket in his hands, he might have crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” Dream seemed to settle himself, “They don't look human but I haven't seen prints like these. They're just weird.”

“If you had to guess?” Sapnap sort of regretted asking as soon as the question came out of his mouth, but Dream went on to answer it anyway.

“Like a big fox.”

A pause. Water trickled. 

“Shit,” Sapnap said, and he picked up the bucket.

Dream stumbled across the river after him, catching up easily with his long legs and following him in the darkness, and while he didn't voice his confusion it was obvious with how closely he was sticking to Sapnap. The air was no longer just cold but freezing, the wet feel of the leaves and branches they passed stuck to his skin as an unwanted caress, and an itchy, hot feeling found its home on the back of his neck, reaching out to touch the hairs there which stood on end. Water sloshed from side to side in the bucket, some of it spilling, and while Sapnap was tempted to just drop it and run, he wasn't willing to place all his bets onto his paranoia. It was just a hunch, a sliver of nerves, influencing his actions. 

Finally they brushed past the totally disguised bit of cow parsley that lead back into their settlement, and Sapnap closed his eyes as he ducked under the plant and into the light of the bonfire.

“George?” he called, and his stomach dropped.

No response.

Dream shot out from behind him, rounding the corner to Sapnap’s home and he gasped at what he saw. Hurrying to see, Sapnap stopped in his tracks. 

“George!” Dream yelled, “Wilbur!” 

But there was still no response. The only calling cards left behind were two bolts from a crossbow lodged in the doorframe of Sapnap’s home and the wall to George’s house.

George and Wilbur were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finished! (apart from the epilogue... but shhhhhhhhhhh) 
> 
> Work will be updated in the next two weeks, hopefully being fully on here by the 6th of November. it just needs editing, some bits added too and reshuffled, so it's purely the nitty-gritty now. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter! Comments are very appreciated, even if you guess something important by accident... 👀


	4. Chapter 3: On the Other Side

For a few moments, neither of them said anything. 

They walked around their settlement like a pair of starving zombies who knew that there was nothing to eat and nowhere else to go, examining, just looking at the fate they had found themselves in. The bonfire and the distant sounds of the forest were the only noises left behind to hear – none of George’s giggles as he talked with Wilbur like he used to in the old world, no conversations, no humming. 

Only crackles from the fire, the sound of wind through the pine needles above them, and the come-and-go creak of his front door, leading to a now empty house. 

Dream dipped into his own house on the other side of the bonfire, his clothes looking as if they were a muddled brown in the light of the instead of the vivid green they were in the day, and he appeared from there just as quickly. 

The doorframe to Sapnap’s house had the two crossbow bolts lodged into it, clearly of the same make as the one between Wilbur’s ribs based on the white and blue fletching on the end, and they seemed to come from roughly the same angle – the far side of their settlement, just below chest height – and based on the crumpled buddleia between Dream and George’s houses, it was clear where either something came into the area, or something left. 

Dream appeared near him, fidgeting, his hood pulled down and his fine, limp hair visible. It hadn't quite gained the hardy quality in autumn which George had described, still far too new and pale to be comparable to actual hair. It was more like the stringy roots of carrots or something. 

“He’s gone,” Dream said, stopping a foot or so away, “They both are.” 

“Yeah,” Sapnap replied, lacking anything better to say.

“We should,” he stopped, breathing in, “we should go find them.”

“...yeah,” Sapnap said again, “not tonight though.”

Dream turned to face him, and while Sapnap couldn't see his face he could imagine the expression on it. 

“Why not?” he asked immediately, “George and Wilbur are out there, alone, in the night time with an enemy, they–“

“Might already be dead,” Dream pulled back, “and going after them now, alone, in the night time with an enemy about, and no supplies is a death wish for us too. We should at least get supplies and make a plan.”

Dream didn't say anything for a moment, his mask smiling in the flickering firelight like it was trying to tell him something that he didn't want to say. The bonfire hissed and spat when another log cracked to reveal its wet interior, and finally Dream said something.

“What’s our plan?”

And finally, he asked a question Sapnap could answer.

“West. We head west.”

Sapnap looked at the fallen tree which stretched over the brook, or more specifically at how Dream was hanging off the log to gather fresh water in their waterskins, disregarding how his hair and the top of his hood fell into the water and got soggy. He clenched his thighs around one of the branches which stretched off the tree, which was decaying, with browned pine needles sticking out at the very ends. The moss, which covered the fallen tree, glistened with the early morning dew.

After having taken turns to sleep the night before, they locked up their houses, disguised all their food items in the mine entrance below George’s house and had set out that morning without waiting for the mist to clear, hoping its cover would create some kind of protection against unseen assailants. They’d tried to be careful not only of what they took but also of what they left behind – if this Fundy-lookalike was still out there, they didn't want him benefiting on their own supplies – and they buried the most precious items in their itinerary in the bonfire pit. Gold, diamonds, iron tools which they didn't take and potions which would shatter in their bags, enchanted books, pickled, salted, jarred or canned food, and even the small sack of glow stones Dream had gathered to expand his collection since his first one saved his life. 

It felt a lot like burying the dead. A loss, something that shouldn't be disturbed once the earth covered it, but nevertheless they piled the loamy soil atop it and patted the earth down. 

They took with them bits and pieces which were useful in and of themselves, or could easily be made into something usable. Versatile, Sapnap had told Dream, they had to be versatile. 

Sapnap took the time to wrap in paper some health potions, two each of instant recovery and regeneration, and a potion each for strength and speed, and a weird amalgamation of glow stone dust, redstone dust, clover, and mint which was _supposedly_ a potion of luck. He also took the time to bring jerky (good for protein if they couldn't catch anything), currant jam (vitamins and sugar) and a jar of almonds. Since it was summer, they could scavenge fairly effectively, especially with Dream’s knowledge of the wilds and various late spring or early summer plants. The rest of his bag was mostly just the aforementioned ‘useful’ stuff. String, thin leather skins, needles and thread, a spare pair of socks and another headband, a bed roll, flint and steel, and dried citronella. Most importantly, Sapnap carried George’s axe – a heavy, sharp thing made of slate with an iron cast on the outside, making it a lightweight wood cutter and an easy killer – and his own rarely seen Netherite short sword.

Dream had tilted his head when Sapnap intentionally left his shield behind, but he seemed more intrigued by the sword, which he wrapped in cloth to stop it from losing its hard-earned shine. Like George’s glasses, like Dream’s glowstone, it was one of the few things to survive his fall into this new world. 

Since Sapnap chose to carry some of the more important stuff, mostly food and medical supplies, Dream selected a few of the other, less necessary but still very appreciated items. His pack had the water, his own bed roll, kindling, a compass, a small (and slightly broken) clock, and bandages. He also carried a pair of pliers and secateurs, just in case they needed something cut or pulled in a hurry. 

Dream also carried his knife and a broadsword, both made of iron, which he had on his hip and on his back respectively. 

But back in the moment, Sapnap had Dream’s bag beside his foot, waiting for the other man to finish messing about and fill their waterskins. He hadn't needed to go upside down to achieve it – he could have very easily skidded down the bank to do much the same thing – but Dream was at least pleased with himself. It made a change from the night before and that morning.

“Sorted?” he asked when Dream pulled himself back up and came to the bank Sapnap was waiting on. 

“Done,” Dream replied, tilting his head in a way that reminded Sapnap of a smile, “Compass says we’re still on track.”

Sapnap nodded, “good. Keep checking it, okay? We need to know if we’re going too far off course.”

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, let’s get going.”

Sapnap started leading the way, but it was easier to let Dream forge ahead through the underbrush of nettles, brambles and ferns than it was to argue that he should go slower. He’d already tried, citing that Dream was the one with the compass so if he got lost, they both got lost, but nevertheless Dream persisted. For all Sapnap knew, he might not even have the same sense of direction as he did, but it was just easier. Dream didn't listen to him unless he was responding to a question.

He pulled the straps on his bag tighter across his shoulders and thought only of having to spend one night out there. They just had to get there, camp, and then find Wilbur and George. If they didn't find them, then there was a good chance that they would come back to their own camp anyway, so it didn't matter too much.

But if it turned out that they were dead, or perhaps worse, remained missing, then Sapnap wasn't really sure what he would do with himself. 

Being alone in a forest was one thing, but being in a forest with someone who wasn't even human and didn't really talk to him was worse. 

“Sapnap,” Dream said, “what time is it?”

“You have the clock.”

“I can't read it.”

Sapnap waited with an open hand for Dream to hand it over, and he glanced at the cracked face of it. It clicked steadily in his hand, like the heartbeat of a mouse or a small bird, before he handed it back to Dream. 

“It’s nearly noon.”

“Already?”

“Seems that way. This walk is taking less time than I thought.”

“Maybe the clock is broken. It’s all cracked.”

“Maybe it is. We’ll wait until we find a clearing and check the sky.”

Dream kicked a piece of foliage out the way. The trees above them were not quite as high as the ones near their settlement, but still tall enough to put most buildings to shame, with wide branches filled with fir or pine needles to block out the sun. The forest floor was downright wet, humidity clinging in the air and hoping to find something to settle on for the day. Summer lingered around every corner, under every branch and through every plant, and he could feel it in the air, on his skinl

“It’s going to rain,” Dream said without doubt.

“Is it?”

“Mm-hmmm.” 

“Tonight?”

“Maybe.” 

“Cool.”

“Maybe we’ll see some mushrooms. Orange-peel fungus, or like, pavement mushrooms.”

“Why are they called that?”

“They’re flat, and grey-ish. My favourite is wood ears though.”

“Your ones?”

A chuckle.

“No, the forest’s. They’re really brown.”

“How do you know so much about things you can't eat?” Sapnap asked, “isn't it a bit pointless?”

“I mostly know because villagers used to trade for them. I read their books, found them, and they bought them.” 

“I didn't realise you had a good relationship with villagers.”

Dream sighed as they passed another fern frond, and if Sapnap hadn't really been listening, then he might have mistaken it for the sound of the plant moving back and forth. 

“I do if the village is small enough. Iron golems don't like me.”

“Because of the… thing?”

“Mm-hmmm.”

“That sucks.”

Dream shrugged, indifferent. There was a moment where neither of them said anything, but then Dream slowed down to a stop and turned to face Sapnap, his mask seeing him with its unseeing eyes. 

“It did,” he said, “but I don't really remember what it was like before. If we find Wilbur’s friends will you talk to them first?”

Sapnap swallowed, looking to the mask as if to read Dream’s features, but they didn't say anything to him. They were speechless until Sapnap opened his mouth.

“When you say ‘if’ we find Wilbur’s friends…”

“Are they villagers?”

“Technically. I mean, they’re gonna either be human or this other species of half-druids, but I don't think they’ll outwardly oppose you being there.”

“But what about the fox?”

“Huh?”

Dream tipped his chin outwards, like something between dipping his head and nodding. He didn't say anything and turned to keep walking, this time slower so that he and Sapnap could keep their conversation going. 

“The footprints scared you when I said they looked a bit like a fox’s.”

Sapnap went slowly from one foot to another. 

“I wanted to tell George.”

“Why?”

“Were you there when Wilbur was talking about being shot by someone who looked like Fundy?”

“No? Who’s Fundy?”

“Fundy is one of our friends at Wilbur’s camp, and one of those half-druids I was talking about. Druids just change between animal and human at will, but half-druids are like somewhere between both.”

“A faun.”

“Not quite. Think of it as like a werewolf which doesn't turn back and has the intelligence of a human.”

“Fundy is a fox, then?”

“That’s right. A half-druid fox.”

“You think Fundy shot Wilbur.”

A statement, and not necessarily one that was untrue, but Sapnap pulled a face anyway. The ends of his hair had freed from his headband and started to get into his eyes, and while he really wanted to wash his hands before he touched his hair and face to fix it, he had to make do. They kept walking.

“Not necessarily Fundy.”

Dream didn't speak for a minute or so. The forest made noise around them; rustling, creaking, the noise of pigeons cooing and of cicadas attracting their partners. 

“Do you really think that?” Dream asked, his voice laden with a finality that made Sapnap press his lips together.

“It’s an option.” 

“It is.”

“I wanted to tell George–“

“To scare him?”

Sapnap furrowed his brows.

“No,” he said, “to warn him. Based on your last word, having those copycats around is a really, really bad thing.”

“Do you really know so much about our last world?”

Something about the way Dream said it made Sapnap stop in his tracks, his hairs standing up again in much the same way as they had the night before when they were returning from the water’s edge, but the current moment was different in almost every way possible. It was day time, the forest floor was not as thick and impenetrable, and instead of the urge to warn Wilbur and George about their discovery it was the motivation to find them. The only similarity, other than the oppressive height of the trees above them, was Dream. 

Which was an interesting link to make. 

“I know what George and you have told me.”

“I haven’t told you much.”

“I know.”

Dream tilted his head again. The mask said nothing. Dream spoke up once more. 

“You’re right though. Having an ‘other’ lingering around isn't a good thing. If you know about our last world so well though, why would this ‘other’ Fundy of yours go after Wilbur?”

Sapnap didn't want to get defensive, but it was more instinct than will to cross his arms. 

“I don't know.”

The mask said nothing. Sapnap went on.

“What I do know is that two of my friends are currently missing or dead.” Dream leant back up again. Sapnap continued, “Two of my friends are missing or dead. They’re missing or dead in a forest that goes on for what feels like forever, with little in the way of environmental markers or structures to protect them from the elements. I know that two of my friends are missing or dead after one of them was attacked by an unknown entity wielding a crossbow. I don't know if you’ve come across pillagers before, Dream, but they don't use bolts with blue and white stripes on the fletching. They don't use coloured fletching on them at all. What I do know, Dream, is that one of the friends who is missing or dead mentioned his own settlement west of our own. I know that it was the only place he mentioned. I know that in your old world, and George’s old world, a previously unknown entity came out of nowhere and tried to kill George. I know that Fundy, the Fundy I knew, wouldn't willingly kill anyone. He wouldn't even think of killing anyone. I know that two of my friends, who I’ve known for years and years, are missing or dead. They’re missing. Or they’re dead.” 

The mask said nothing. 

“I know I care about this a lot,” he said, “and I know I didn't go through your world, but I did go through this one. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to try and settle without anyone to help you? I appeared near that hill too. There weren’t any trees around for ages. I drank rainwater because there wasn't anything else to drink, or to eat, for days. Did you know that?”

The mask said nothing.

“You didn't know that because you didn't ask. I asked you about your old world. I asked George too. I asked because I wanted to know in case it happened here too. And here we are. I know my friends are missing or dead. I know there’s a crossbow wielding _maniac_ out there, and I know you care more about George than you do about Wilbur or me.”

“That isn't true.”

“It is. You don't know Wilbur. You hardly know me. If you could live with just George you would.”

“That isn't true, Sapnap.”

“You don’t know me, Dream. Don't flatter me and pretend you do.”

The mask said nothing.

Rain began to fall. 

The walk was simultaneously easier and harder from that point onwards. 

The rain dragged on throughout the afternoon, fine and steady, making the humidity increase tenfold. Sapnap could feel his undershirt sticking to his skin, pressing down between his back and his bag like a sheet of paper being straightened in the middle of two books. The water seeped into Dream’s hood and shoulders too, making the fabric darker and staining his bag a dark brown colour. 

On the other hand, they had finally reached the edge of the spruce forest and the route they were taking went downhill, through finer grass which soaked through their trouser legs as effectively as going straight through a stream. Dream hadn't said anything since Sapnap’s accusations earlier and as the day subtly declined into night, they stopped in a small clearing in the birchwood forests, taking shelter beneath a ten-metre beech tree. It must have been around nine at night when they stopped there – given the fact that they were further north, it gave them extra daylight in the summer – and in near silence they unpacked their bedrolls and lay down their tools and bags. 

Subtly, after making a fire despite the rainwater trying to stop them, they faced one another around the fire. 

It would have been very easy not to say anything at all, but after Dream adjusted his mask and tried not to show his emotions in his actions, Sapnap broke their silence. 

“I shouldn't have said that,” he began, and after no response he continued, “I’m sorry. I get that you’re… into George, and I shouldn't have been so defensive, but I do hardly know you, Dream.”

Dream rose one shoulder and dropped it again. 

But Sapnap let the silence linger, having said his piece, and eventually his mask (the metaphorical one) broke. 

“I feel like I've been defensive too,” Dream admitted, “I do care about George, he was the first person I met since I became who I am. He saved my life as much as I saved his. I’m sorry I didn't consider… didn't consider what you went through.” 

“It’s cool. No point worrying about it now.” 

“Can I-” Dream cut himself off, but Sapnap was looking at him now.

“Can you…?”

“Were you and George…?”

He swallowed. “Kind of,” Sapnap admitted, “It was never serious.” 

“Right.”

“Are you and George, like, together?”

Dream shrugged again. Sapnap watched the action, expressionless, but he could feel himself starting to get frustrated.

“I don't know,” Dream said after a moment, “I feel… like I want to be, and George has done stuff that does seem more-than-friend like, but I can't tell. I’m not good at this sort of stuff. It might just be him being nice to me after we both went through the same thing.” 

He nodded slowly. “I get that. After the ‘saving your life’ thing. People do tend to get buddy-buddy when they go through something like that together.”

“You have experience with it?”

Sapnap swallowed. 

“I did. I’m not sure where they are now.”

Dream hummed. In the light of the fire his mask looked brighter, no longer the mottled yellow-white of clay that he had used to colour its surface, but becoming a brilliant sheet of white. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“For that, but for not asking about you. You know about me through what George told you, and from what he’s asked me, but you’re right. I feel like I hardly know you.”

He felt the corner of his lip quirk up, but it was in a sad sort of way, such as when someone was reminiscing on something you dearly missed. Sapnap turned his head, the burning gaze of the mask going from head on to his cheek like a ghost of a kiss. 

“Will you tell me?” Dream asked from across the fire.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what it was like. Waking up here, all alone.” 

The first thing he noticed, waking up that day was that a cold and steady drizzle was coming from above him and that the sound of it hitting a plant-filled floor was the only thing he could hear. When Sapnap opened his eyes, however, he realised something else.

He was alone in a huge field of flowers – of myrtles, bluebells, daisies and marigolds, dandelions and thistles, cornels and trailing azaleas, but most of all heather. Fields and fields of purple heather, coating the otherwise barren earth with colour. The only defining features were a hill, sloping the landscape to his north, and the stump of an old spruce or pine tree. If he had to guess it would be pine, if only for the sticky-sweet smell of the sap coming from the cut. It looked like someone had been there before him, for when he leant up onto his elbows, the flowers surrounding him were trampled slightly.

Standing, Sapnap looked around with his hand covering his eyes from the rain. If it had been a nicer day he might have been glad to wake up there, but there was no shelter, no trees or defining landmarks, and while he could tell the sun was slightly slanted towards the south in the sky, he couldn't tell which way the nearest biome would be. Pulling a face, he looked down at the flowers. Alpine flowers, maybe. The kind you’d see in temperate areas or somewhere where you’d get snow in winter. If he had to guess, it was autumn. 

An unusual time to start, but nevertheless, Sapnap had to keep moving. 

The trampled flowers told him a couple of things, the first of which was that there were either people or organised animals somewhere, and that they had decided to head towards the south. Either way, it was better to be in a group than alone.

He started to walk.

The rain eased off as night fell, but Sapnap wasn't feeling much better for it. The only thing he had found to eat were a few sparse blackcurrant bushes, which were too tart to stomach properly and tasted strange. He hadn't been in this sort of environment for more than a day or so, and it was usually when he was well established enough to come by with other food to eat. There wasn't any shelter out on the moor either, no trees or furrows or caves or cliffs, only flat land which let the wind whip across it, violent and with no purpose other than to brush the tops of the flowers and to sink deeper into Sapnap’s skin.

As night fell, he sat down and waited.

But monsters never came.

Under the highlight of a full moon, Sapnap stood and kept going. 

A passed a lava pool, taking the time to slap his wet clothes on the exposed stone to dry them and himself, before he moved on the next morning under the harsh light of day in search of anything. He would have taken anything – even the near-certain death that would come from a pillager outpost. Sapnap just wanted to have some kind of progress, something visible rather than the dryness in his throat or the empty pit of lead in his stomach. How could something so empty weigh so much?

The first thing he ate in a day and a half were the fingernail-sized beech seeds which were scattered inexplicably beneath three birch trees. They stood, yellow-leafed and motionless, against a greying sky. 

Sapnap waited with an arid mouth for rain to fall. 

All things ended. 

And so to, eventually, would the moor. 

Further he went. South, his mind told him, south, south. His feet ached in his poorly made shoes and his hands ached for something to do. They twitched by his sides, fingers numb from disuse and itching for something to do other than swing back and forth. 

He stopped. 

A thin line of thick trees lay on the horizon, a dark mass which marked one of the ends he had been hoping for, and for the first time in the three days since he arrived in the terrible world, he ran. 

Puddles of muddy clouds awaited behind the treeline, along with the decaying smell of blackberries and stinging nettles with wet leaves, which disguised what few sweet berry bushes he came across. Under his breath Sapnap cursed his luck, looking around every tree and under a few rocks to see if anything, anywhere was hiding food or clean water. 

Turning to look around one of the massive spruce trees, Sapnap stopped. 

He first noticed the vibrant cornus around the base of an ash tree, an intense wine-red colour which went upwards from the earth like veins and arteries, bare and leafless in the late autumn, but he noticed something else as well. 

A Netherite sword was lodged into the side of the ash tree, wet with rainwater and gleaming like obsidian in the light of lava. As he came closer he saw the remains of blood dripping down the bark of the tree, but whatever the sword killed, along with whoever swung it, was gone. 

It was a strange and delicate thing, that moment when he approached the sword in the wood, and if Sapnap pressed his memory hard enough he might have remembered a story about swords stuck in stones or lakes, but all this reminded him of was the distant memory of an explosion – of something flying straight at him. 

Swallowing, Sapnap grabbed the sword’s handle with his right hand, which fit into the worn-down grooves of the sword like a door slipping into its frame. He pulled it, and while it budged it wasn't released from the tree, its blade sliding back and forth between the most dug in point and the bark of the tree. He tugged, going back and forth before with a sharp noise the sword came free from the tree, it’s blade slippery with sap and dripping onto the floor of the forest, staging the grass red. 

Sapnap sniffed, furrowed his brow, and sniffed the sap. His eyes flickered to wound in the tree’s side. 

There was either a lot of blood from whatever died, or the tree’s insides were bleeding.

The first shelter he found in days came in the form of a broken-down mill, where the stone base of the building remained in place, as did the massive grinding stone in the centre room. Off to the side there was another room, and on the far wall, the impressions in the stone which suggested the previous presence of a staircase, one that had rotted away and led to nowhere. One corner of the main room, the one with the grinding stone, still had a stone overhang – one that looked like it was being held together by roots and moss alone. Sapnap, his Netherite sword still in hand, sat on the grindstone and pressed one hand to his eyes. 

_What a world_ , he had thought, _what a world_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 tonight, around 9pm GMT. Thanks for reading + all the lovely comments so far ;)


	5. Chapter 4: You are Being Watched

Dream listened to Sapnap say his piece in a kind of silence which could only be described as interesting, and he only occasionally shifted to find a more comfortable position or to grab a piece of wood for the fire. The branches they had found at the beginning of the night had begun to dwindle as Dream took great care in fuelling their only light source, and he kept the logs to his side in a way that stopped Sapnap from reaching over to them. He didn’t comment, too burdened with the weight of his own experiences and too tired to argue with the tree-person. His own story forged in this world was not the same as Dream’s or George’s, but the lead-balloon emptiness lingered within him, a black cloud over his head and a reminder of what had been and gone. 

Neither Sapnap or Dream ate that night, and by the coals of the fire they slept. When morning broke the rain had stopped, but the lingering darkness in the sky told them all they needed to know about what waited in store for them when they moved on, and after packing up their encampment in a quiet, subdued way, they continued west. 

Sapnap’s shoes squelched with the dampness from the day before and the previous night, almost swampy with rainwater as his spare pair of socks did nothing to help with the moisture. He could tell that if rain came again for them they would be in some serious trouble. It might have just been the types of forests they had found themselves in, but the summer in this world had been wetter than any of the ones he had found himself in previously – and bigger too. It usually took less than a day to travel across forests, to find oaks or sands, plains or oceans. The field he (they) had found themselves in took nearly three days to cross, and if he hadn’t travelled so far into the spruce forest then it might have taken them even longer to find the birch one. 

Something just seemed so incredibly disturbed about the whole place – the ‘bleeding tree’ he had come across was a clear enough example of that – but there was no solid, set in stone evidence. Sapnap could just feel the stinging nettles brush his legs through his trousers, feel the cow parsley curving in over their heads and the ferns grip to his fingers if he touched them, but the birch forest was messed up too. 

While there were less colossal plants (the spaces between the trees were not wide enough for other big things to grow), the ones that were there concerned him. Cornus appeared again, green in the summer with finger-length leaves and its vein-like reachings for the sky, and great buds of lavender which didn't have enough sunlight to grow properly, but nevertheless spat out their overwhelming scents throughout the trees. Antirrhinum grew in place of the buddleia, similar in shape but reaching more wide than tall, and looking a lot like the very poisonous foxgloves that sometimes came in oak forests. The most challenging plant to get past was the bindweed, which curled and crossed over itself in a patchwork of snags, its white flowers innocent of how annoying it was.

What stuck him as odd wasn’t the forest though, the birch woods were pretty normal compared to the spruce forest they lived in, but it was how Dream didn’t say anything as they walked, no questions or rambles about the species of plants that stood out like he used to do with George. Sapnap got it – he wasn’t George – but Dream’s silence was eerie. 

“You good?” Sapnap asked when they found an overgrown trail through the forest. It went mostly south, trailing east and west as it went around some of the larger trees, but it didn’t seem too old to be completely unused. 

“Yeah,” Dream said, “Just thinking.”

Sapnap didn’t say anything as he pushed a low branch out of the way, but he spoke up again as they both passed it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s just… this place looks familiar.”

Sapnap looked behind him at Dream, who was looking almost exclusively at the floor. There didn’t seem to be any specific markers around them, no different trees or dilapidated structures, but Dream was known to work in different ways. 

“Was there a birch forest in one of your other worlds? You did say you’ve been through a few.” 

“No, no. if I had been in one of these sorts of worlds before there’s no way I would have made it past the first night. It’s just… something about it looks like the memory from, well, from me before, you know?”

Sapnap did, but he didn’t like hearing it. 

“Your human side or your tree-person side?”

“The tree-person side.” 

Sapnap didn’t want to say anything, but he cleared his throat and made a half-hearted ‘huh’ as they kept walking. The high humid day felt heavier suddenly, the dark sky closer, and Dream’s presence at his back was closer. He could hear his own breathing, loud and enclosed, a tunnel in the forest echoing around him and repeating every noise he made back at him. Was he making the noise twice, or was something else making it? 

But damn him, he was curious. 

“If you remember it,” he said, “Do you know what’s around the next corner?”

Dream scoffed, “no,” he said, “this isn’t the same forest. The one I remember had this massive tower. There’s nothing… here.”

As he trailed off they reached the turning Sapnap had pointed out, and they came across a large diorite brick half submerged in moss and in the earth. Sapnap anticipated the change in discussion, even if he didn’t want to hear the one gone or the one coming. 

“It’s a brick,” Dream said instead, and Sapnap kept walking.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his eyes flickering back and forth around the silver birch trees.

The denseness of the forest made it difficult to see anything other than the white strips of bark and the small leaves making up a canopy, and the trees were so close together that the sky had disappeared behind them. Despite the single brick suggesting a settlement or a building nearby, he couldn't see it, and based on how Dream was going from foot to foot and kept turning his head, he couldn't either. All he could hear was the gentle rustling of trees above him and his own breathing. Everything felt too close. 

“Are we still going in the right direction?” Sapnap asked without looking at Dream, but he heard him rustling through his pockets for the compass. 

“We’re going slightly south-west. Is that good or do we need to change direction?” 

Sapnap didn't say anything for a moment, still scanning the trees around them. An eerie breeze blew through the birch trees like a phantom, rustling the leaves and making its presence known without showing itself to them. His head turned slowly, left to right, and then stopped. 

He took two, then three steps forward towards a single birch tree and lifted his hand to it, his fingers barely brushing the blue and white fletching of a crossbow bolt from where it was stuck in its bark. Dream came closer to when Sapnap didn't motion him forwards, but he stopped far away enough for Sapnap to tell he was there but not to feel his presence. They looked at one another. 

In silence, they went south – the same way the crossbow bolt faced. 

Another brick was ten or so metres away, then another bolt a little bit further on, and a demolished wall perhaps fifteen metres away from the bolt. There was a clear spot where a house once stood, but the area was filled with weeds – nettles and more cow parsley, their scents filling the air in a sickening perfume. Dream looked around them, at the trees, and then tilted his head upwards to look above their reach. At the very top of one of the trees, he paused, watching. Sapnap squinted. 

Against the charcoal-grey sky, a dark tower of basalt stood like a great sign, shaped like the bishop on a chessboard and crumbling, decaying; one with the world and the sky, it unified them both. The brick which made up its peak wasn't quite dark enough to be comparable to an Enderman, but the holes towards its peak did look almost like eyes – three or four of them, unblinking. The very top seemed to have caved inwards, which didn’t bode well for whatever was inside. Sapnap could only hope that if there were stairs upwards, they would still be in place enough to get a good vantage point over the trees. If there was a tower, there would probably be the settlement Wilbur came from too. 

He and Dream watched it, and Sapnap couldn't tell if it was swaying or the trees just gave it the illusion of movement. They looked at one another, and with the message unspoken but agreed upon, they moved. 

In the distance between them and the tower were a number of items – a broken Iron axe, another bolt, a shield (it may have been in one piece, but anyone with working eyesight could have told you it wouldn't withstand another blow) and the broken, curved glass that usually came from a splash potion of some sort. The smell in the air was bitter, almost like sulphur, and the grass stained was stained silver, so if Sapnap had to guess the type of potion used he would have said invisibility. 

“This is definitely familiar,” Dream said with a hollow voice, and Sapnap couldn’t tell if it was in dread or ill-hidden excitement, “I know this place, it’s… it’s from before.” 

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Sapnap had to ask.

Dream didn’t answer, but he took a step forward anyway.

The great tower used to be connected to a series of walls, he realised as they got closer, as the base of the tower had four walls branching off it, heading in pairs and in two different directions – south-west, and north-west. They were made up of the same black stone as the foundations and walls of the lower tower, with vein-like carvings put into the brick and ivy making up for where the bricks were missing their mortar. A brief spill of sunlight lit the side of the tower into a deep orange, a rust-like colour which also highlighted the wisteria that grew up the side. 

Wisteria was one of Sapnap’s favourite plants, but the unfortunate thing was how long it took to grow, with only a few centimetres of new vines being gained each year. But the one clambering up the side of the tower was monumental, almost the same size as it and covering the lower half of the tower’s outside almost completely. It was technically a weed, seeing as it put its roots into anything and everything to ruin the tree, building or other surface it grew on. The only discernible feature to the base of the tower, other than the walls branching off it, was a gaping maw in its side, one that clearly wasn't supposed to be there but was half grown over, almost covered. Sapnap pressed forward, sliding his foot over the uneven ground in case of pitfall traps or patches of poison ivy, and he lifted a few trails of wisteria out the way to see inside the tower. Another blue-white crossbow bolt was lodged in the wall, but Sapnap didn't have eyes for it. 

Sapnap opened his mouth, closed it again, like a fish out of water he was helpless, completely still, as he could do nothing but look. 

Save for the glinting of dust in the sun, the inside of the tower was still. 

On a pile of rubble, his red cape cascaded across the floor in a waterfall of fabric and his two-handed diamond sword through his abdomen; Technoblade lay dead on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter since there's been two today. expect another one tomorrow around the same time, and only one because it's 5k
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! please let me know what you think :)


	6. Chapter 5: The Last Stand

Sapnap stood, paralyzed, as he watched Dream assess the corpse of the half-druid. 

It was… hard to watch as the other man circled the body, his expressionless mask unchanging but his head tilting from side to side like a crow assessing a rat in a trap. His stomach rolled in the sight, and he pressed his hand to his mouth to stop the ill feeling from rising up higher, stopping it from filling his lungs and his mouth, his nostrils and his throat. With effort, he swallowed. 

And Techno, poor Techno, looked more asleep than dead. 

Sapnap took a breath, then another, and with his hand gripping the wall like a lifeline, he sunk to the floor a metre or so from the corpse, still watching as Dream examined him.

His hand left the wall and he pressed the heel of each palm into his eyes instead, the oil-spill colours swimming into his view as he felt the dirt which had accumulated in the lines of his hands. _Breathe_ , he thought, _breathe_. 

It was boggy, tense and wet inside the tower, the overwhelming smell of mildew dispelling the scent of blood which would have filled the air if not for it – an unseen force compelling them to leave, almost. The tower still had some semblance of floors, all of which were half-crumbled and helped make the floor of the tower uneven and craggy, while the brick walls were covered in ivy, moss, wisteria and trailing, hanging vines with curled ends which Sapnap couldn't identify, and the far side was filled with more cow parsley to block up the hole which at some point lead to the inside of the walls. There was a staircase leading downwards in a spine-like spiral, but the passage was blocked with rubble partway down, freshly fallen like snow on a cold winter's day. The second most worrying thing about the image before them was in two parts; the crossbow bolt in the wall they emerged through, and the obvious signs of a fight elsewhere in the tower. Cuts in the stone, sap bleeding from plants where they had been sliced, and blood elsewhere, in places that didn't lead back to the body.

And the body, oh the body.

The body hadn't disappeared – the most worrying thing about the image – which meant that if Techno was actually, fully dead, then he wouldn't appear in another world. That was it. He was dead. 

Sapnap wanted to check, to press his hands to the artery in his neck and see if the pulse was well and truly gone, but the sword through his stomach was enough to prove it without accounting for how old the blood looked on his shirt. 

And the blood, there was just so much, spilt all over his white shirt and sticky around the blade of his own damn sword. His crown, almost like the grave of an actual king, balanced on the handle. Whoever did this (and it had to be a ‘who’; it was no longer worth entertaining the thought of a ‘what’) had both the means to kill someone who was supposedly unstoppable in battle, but also the means to acknowledge his death. Their unseen enemy suddenly became a whole lot more threatening. 

But then Dream announced, voice indifferent, “Oh. It’s breathing.” 

Sapnap's eyes flew open.

“Techno?” he said, but his voice was too quiet to hear. Even he himself wasn't sure if he said anything, but then he stood, stumbling, almost drunk with grief and adrenaline, and fell with great weight to his knees at Techno’s right side, while the sword was buried in his left. 

He said it again, “Techno?”

“Ugh.”

Techno hadn't moved, but the noise definitely came from him, through his chest and then his snout, before one of his wet, dark brown eyes slipped open. 

Sapnap pressed his hand to Techno’s throat, sure it was a fluke or some kind of trick, but the half-druid’s heart still beat faintly under the ruff of his cloak. Techno watched him, not saying anything more, but Dream was watching him in turn. At the sight of the tree-person, Techno’s face grew harsh. 

A kick and Dream was on the floor. Techno was pinned to the floor with the sword but he grabbed at Sapnap, pulling him away from the other man and behind him, as if Techno was in some shape to put up a fight. Sapnap looked between them, from Techno’s furrowed brow and sweat going down his temple and to Dream, who slid back after the attack to stop himself from being struck again. Techno still hadn't talked to them, but his strength was fading.

“He’s friendly,” Sapnap said quickly, “He’s friendly, he’s been with me all winter. It’s okay.”

“Sap–“ he tried to say his full name but coughed, a bead of blood coming from the sword. 

“Look,” he snapped, “You can't fight him, you’re dead.”

“Can't die.”

“Dream, is he dead?”

“Basically.”

“Techno, shut up.”

“Techno is a dumb name.”

“Says the guy called ‘Dream’.”

Another bead of blood.

“Both of you!” 

“What?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Techno stared at Dream, his eyes flickering up and down from his mask to his hands, from his hunched over figure where he crouched across the room, to the bag on the floor beside him, its contents spilling out. In the quiet moment, Sapnap took a risk and moved his hand over to his bag, rustling around for a potion. With his hand clasped around one of the thick glass bottles, he pulled it free and moved back to Techno’s side, who looked like he either wanted to kill Dream or just die – either seemed preferable to him in that moment. 

The pale pink of an instant recovery potion greeted him, its contents gleaming in the gloom like an enchanted apple and Sapnap held it in front of Techno so that he could see it. The pig-man looked up at him, his ears flopping out over his thighs, and Sapnap nodded. With some effort and Sapnap’s help, Techno pulled himself up into a sitting position, the sword sinking deeper into him but not refreshing the bleeding. Keeping an eye on Dream, Techno uncorked the bottle. Sapnap put two hands onto the hilt of the sword – ready to pull. 

It was agonising, having to watch Techno’s face pull and contract as he withdrew the weapon, and while it would have been better to have him drink it as it was pulled from him, he probably wouldn't have been able to keep it down and breathe at the same time. Regardless, Sapnap threw the diamond sword aside and rummaged for more potions, ignoring the sounds of pain as Techno took the potion and drank it in one. 

Techno was taller than average, and his half-druid trait meant he was wider too, so it took two potions of recovery for him to be at least somewhat comfortable on the floor. He would still need a regeneration potion to be completely healed, or at least healed enough to stand on his own and maybe even fight, but he would still need time.

Something they probably shouldn't have taken, but either way, Sapnap had to know.

“What happened?”

Techno closed his brown eyes, and while Sapnap had been close to the half-druid before, it was never intimately enough to realise he had eyelashes. But then he opened them again, and while Techno stared up at the ruined ceiling of the tower, he looked furious. 

“Some asshole,” he said, “with an invisibility potion and a crossbow came through our settlement.”

“Your settlement was you, Wilbur… Fundy?” Dream said, his head tilting to the other side. 

Sapnap tried not to focus on it, but the sick feeling from earlier was returning as he watched Dream assess them.

“Uh-huh. Phil, Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, me, Wilbur and Fundy. Wilbur was gone, he’d gone east to see if he could find some staples like wheat seeds or,” he took a breath as the regeneration potion stitched a hole in his side, “or maybe saplings of some better trees. Birch doesn't cut it, I’m sure you know, for things like strengthened doors or ceiling beams.” 

“What happened though?”

“Right, the person,” he said, “they were like… small. I hardly saw them before they drank the potion, but after it was like they were everywhere at once, just able to see me and everyone else without having to move around. They could tell when we were in buildings, or groves with only one exit because the forest was too thick to move through.”

“Did you feel like you were being watched?” Dream asked, voice unwavering. 

“Well, yeah, they were attacking us.”

“No, before they attacked.” 

Techno didn't say anything, but he glared. 

Sapnap could tell that Techno didn't want to say too much – something about Dream being there was throwing him off his game – and his cloven hooves scraped across the dirty stone floor as he drew his legs up to his chest. It was probably wise, as a roll of thunder came from the distance, to change the subject. 

“How did you live?” He asked, watching as pink skin was starting to knit itself across his wound. 

“Plot armour.”

“What?”

“Don't worry about it. You know I'm near unkillable.” 

“How long have you been here?”

“Overnight. Maybe longer.”

“You should be dead,” Dream piped up.

“Uh-huh,” Techno waved a hand (hoof?) and his lips pressed tightly against his tusks in a frown. 

“Dream, uh,” Sapnap looked at him and fought back any reaction when he looked at him, “Can you go look around? See if there’s any more crossbow bolts or broken weapons around? I think we’re going to need more than just one weapon each.”

“George’s axe is a weapon,” he pointed out, but still stood. 

Dream looked back at them just before he disappeared through the hole in the wall, his clothes the same colour as the wisteria leaves and his mask smiling at them, but then he was gone. Techno sighed. 

“Where did you find that guy?”

“I didn't. George did.”

“George is back at your camp or wherever?”

“Missing.”

“Damn.”

“We found Wilbur too, or,” Sapnap shrugged, and he could feel it move Techno slightly from where he was laying on him, “Dream did. He had a bolt between his ribs.”

Techno wasn't any calmer after the admission. 

“Sapnap,” he said, “He’s one of _those_ guys.”

“Huh?”

“One of the guys who attacked us. I caught a glimpse of one of them – their skin looked like ours but like it was… I’m going to sound insane,” Sapnap went to reassure him but Techno continued without prompt, “It was like they were made of _wood._ ” 

Cold. His body was cold. It was a distant feeling of something washing over him, a different emotion that he could only describe with that one word. The light that had spilled into the tower before disappeared under cloud cover, and another roll of thunder came from somewhere above. Dream hadn't returned, but Sapnap could almost feel their time alone growing shorter. 

“I haven't seen him do anything weird,” Sapnap said, “George trusts him, like with his life.”

“George is gone, and Wilbur, you said so yourself.”

“Dream was with me when he left.”

“Who’s to say he didn't have someone else out there?”

Sapnap swallowed. 

“Where are the others?” he asked. 

“Down,” Techno was sitting up now, finally healed enough to move properly, “They’re down below the tower.”

The spiral staircase, with its wet stone and blocked passage, waited patiently for them. 

Crack, crack, crack. 

They had no pickaxes with them, so with any rocks they could lift, Dream and Sapnap chipped away at the fallen rubble in the stairwell of the tower, pulling debits free with both hands and piling them up in the base of the tower. Techno, hardly strong enough to stand, held his sword in one hand and his crown in the other while watching the entrance to the tower like he was expecting an enemy at any moment. He was in no position to fight with his blood-soaked shirt and weary eyes, but his effort to be there for them was appreciated, especially when Dream claimed he couldn't find the settlement Techno and the others had come from. 

“It was literally just north of here,” Techno had said, “we could see the tower from the doors of some of the houses. What do you mean you can't find it?”

“It’s not there,” Dream insisted, “It’s gone, or moved, or the trees have replaced it. I don't know.”

But now they were cracking stones, pulling moss from the cracks and finding shards of objects. Sapnap came across a coin at one point – plated gold with the leaves of an ash tree engraved on it. He shoved it into his pocket before Dream could see.

The hairs on his neck were standing on end again. The air smelled like mould. 

“I just,” Dream began, repeating the things he had been saying since they started digging, “I just. I just, do you really think we should be doing this? Is George even going to be down here?”

“Everyone else is,” Sapnap said with gritted teeth. 

Two of his fingernails were bleeding. 

Dream was breathing like he had run for a mile, his bottom teeth sticking out from the mask like a gathering of stalagmites, waiting for something to fall in.

“But is George?”

“George is an adult, you know,” Sapnap snapped, “and you are too. You don't need him to live.”

Dream stopped.

“Do you even want to find him?”

Sapnap turned to stare at Dream, his face indescribable. 

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

Dream crossed his arms. 

“No, seriously. What kind of question is that? He’s my friend of _ten years_. You’ve known him for less than one.”

Sapnap threw the rock he was holding down, and the blockage gave way, rattling down the stairs and into the caverns below. Dream took the opportunity to slip through the gap Sapnap had made, and he took the steps two at a time into the darkness, leaving Techno, Sapnap, and his bad behind. He had his glowstone in one hand like a charm, but it did little to light the way down. Sapnap huffed. If that idiot wanted to rush ahead and get killed, Sapnap wasn't going to be the one to stop him. 

He took the stairs back up one at a time, still out of breath from getting rid of the rubble, and the icky feeling of dread left him when he saw Technoblade still there, leaning against a wall like a sack of potatoes. 

“C’mon,” he said and grabbed Techno’s arm, “We’re going down.”

“It would be easier to leave me here,” Techno said, but he didn't resist Sapnap helping him to his feet. 

“We’re not doing that.”

“Dream did.”

“Well, _I’m_ not going to.”

Techno still had to lean on Sapnap for some support as they took the steps one at a time, with Sapnap’s feet sure against the wet stone and Techno’s hooves wanting to slip at every moment. Techno had Dream’s bag over his other shoulder, and Sapnap used his other hand to hold the Netherite sword in front of them. They had no glowstone to guide them, and as they went further and further into the gloom holes began to appear in the walls – remnants of where candles used to go, or where decorations had been pulled out like maggots. The floor began to be more moss than stone, which on the one hand made it easier for Techno to get grip with each step, but also made it more difficult for Sapnap. 

The darkness was oppressive, sinking in on them without care for personal space until Sapnap couldn't see his own nose in front of his face, and he could swear that something was walking behind them, watching without eyes and knowing that even if they turned, they wouldn't be able to see it. The stories George told of the world he had found Dream in harked on the back of his mind, of the darkness taking a chunk out of Dream’s arm and of it killing them both after the ‘other’ had turned out the light. He could hear his own breathing on the walls, hear Techno’s lingering with his own before them, and felt air come from behind them too. Distantly, what felt like a thousand miles above them, he could hear rain start to fall. 

But then a light came from his left, faint as the rain he could hear but as unmistakable as the hoot of an owl, and he blinked back the shapes he thought he saw in the darkness. 

Sapnap could see through a hole in the staircase wall, but all his face met were leaves. Ash tree leaves. They had this unknown, woody smell about them, hardly any different from the smell of any old forest, but something about the leaves made Sapnap stop for a moment. He listened.

The sound of trickling water. Techno’s laboured breaths. An argument happening somewhere below.

“Dream?” Sapnap yelled, his voice loud in the enclosed space. 

A pause. 

“Sapnap!” 

“Oh great,” Techno said as they went faster, using the holes in the walls as grips to stop them both from tumbling down below.

He could hear shouting, multiple people’s voices coming in equally panicked fervour like a wolf had just entered a barn filled with sheep, and as they went lower and lower, the voices got louder, clearer. 

“Put it in the cell!”

“The door!”

“Sapnap!”

Techno stood up a little straighter and shouted “Guys?” 

There was another pause, shorter this time and filled with the sound of sloshing feet, and it reminded Sapnap of the sound of rats leaving a sewer’s hiding place after they had been found. Torchlight appeared in the stairwell, growing closer before a figure’s shadow appeared in its glow, which looked like a human rather than a half-druid. Moments later, Sapnap and Techno stared into the worried faces of Niki and Tubbo. 

“Oh god,” Niki said first.

“Techno!” Tubbo shouted over her. 

Tubbo ran to hug Techno, ignoring his noise of pain as he ignored the still bloody patch of fabric on his stomach, which left Niki and Sapnap to stare at one another in the torchlight. It was the only source of light in the stairwell, and Sapnap hadn't noticed the arches in the ceiling before she brought it to them. It reminded him a little of ribs, arching over them in the way old structures did. He also took in the appearance of Niki.

Her hair was darker, he realised, but not with dye or stains and instead with just dirt or grease – whatever had happened down there in the catacombs of the tower was rough, then. Her hair was also covered with a hat – one that looked like Wilbur’s old one from the previous world, and she smiled slightly at (what he assumed was) his own horrible appearance. He knew he still had dirt smeared on his face from the excavation of the stairs earlier, along with the green stains of pine needles from two night ago, just before George and Wilbur had disappeared. 

Leaving Techno and Tubbo behind, Sapnap grabbed the other bag and continued down the stairs, following Niki into the earth like she was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay, but as the foliage on the left of the stairs got thicker, he noticed lit lanterns among the leaves, illuminating whatever tree or creeper was responsible for putting them there. Their footsteps echoed up to the ceiling and sounded out further below them. He could hear Dream down there, still alive, but furious.

“Do you know it?” Niki asked.

Niki and Sapnap had never been close, more so knowing one another’s friends rather than each other, but he could still respect her for her own achievements. She was, at one point, the only thing between George and Wilbur when they were willing to tear each other apart in an argument. If Sapnap had been there, he might have just made it worse. 

“I do,” he said, “he’s George’s friend.”

“Where is George?”

“With Wilbur.”

Niki stopped and looked at him, her brow furrowed like she didn't want to trust him, and it pained him when he realised she was justified in feeling like that. If they had seen the tree-people attacking them, then it was reasonable to be angry with him for bringing another one to them.

“Where’s Wilbur?”

“We don't know. We found him injured, left for a moment, and they were both gone.” 

“And that’s why you and… George’s friend are here?”

“Yeah.”

He and Niki reached the bottom of the stairs and he took in the scene before him.

The cathedral ceilings had been completely enclosed in a kind of climbing ash tree – something that he had never seen before and would die happy if he never had to see again – and lanterns hung from various branches. The lanterns were obviously ones they had found there and relit since they were rusted and old, some of them were missing the embellishments that others were covered with, and they emitted a bright sulphur coloured light throughout the main room. Various dark passages lead off from the room, like Sapnap had seen before in strongholds and the like, but this room had much more grandeur than other underground structures he had come across before. The walls were chiselled basalt brick, some falling to pieces and exposing plain stone behind them, and others covered in moss and the climbing ash that led to the ceiling. 

The floor was flooded; ankle deep.

The room smelt like smoke, with a couple of torches lighting up the far corners and keeping the darkness at bay, but what struck him was one of the passageways was so well lit that it spilt into the room in bright white light, but from his position he could only see the archway and not actually into the room.

A collection of items was against the far wall – bags, pickaxes, axes, swords, iron bars, bundles of food and bottles of water, and a mound of cloaks, coats and blankets. They rested on the only surface held above the water: an old, rotten-looking oak table which turned black where it sunk into the water.

As he glanced across the room, he saw Fundy, who tentatively waved, and Tommy, who looked like he was about to ask a hundred questions. Thankfully, Techno and Tubbo tumbled down the stairs behind them and Tommy hurried through the water to take Techno’s other side and guide him across the room to where the table was waiting for them. He could still feel Tommy’s questions, fiery and ready to snap like a bolt of lightning, but for now he would have to wait. 

Even if Sapnap could answer them, he didn't know if he would know what to say. 

Thankfully, Fundy made the decision for him.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“East,” was the immediate response.

“And you know that… wood guy?” 

“I do.”

Fundy sighed with some resignation, but unlike Niki, Fundy had no reason to distrust him. 

“I’ll go let him out the cell – “

Sapnap didn't know what possessed him, but he reached out and grabbed Fundy’s arm in a tight grip, stopping him from moving. The half-druid looked up at him with his ears pressed back, confused. 

“Hang on, hang on.” 

“What?”

Fundy was looking at him with worry in his eyes, and it was easy to tell what he was thinking just on their situation. Fundy’s fur was scorched on his right leg, and he had a pair of cuts on his face near his lip, both of which looked raw and bloody like he kept licking them when they hurt. His legs were soaked up to his haunches, and his tail was ratty from the water, hanging limply behind him.

“I don’t– I used to trust him.”

Fundy paused but then nodded. 

“You don't know if you can now.”

“Yeah. Techno said the guys that attacked you… looked like him.”

“Like Techno?”

“No, like Dream.” 

Fundy’s eyebrows furrowed and Niki came to stand beside them. Sapnap hadn't noticed before, but her belt had a hatchet hanging off it, and on the wall behind her a crossbow hung along with a quiver filled with bolts. The fletching on the bolts was made of red and yellow feathers, like the ones on a rooster. Sapnap eyed the weapon before turning back to the other two.

“Clones?” Niki asked. 

“Wooden.”

They both paused. Sliding his foot back through the water, Fundy looked down the hallway which Sapnap could assume had Dream’s cell, for he could see an iron door just off to the side of it and could still hear him getting louder and louder inside. If Dream didn't shut up soon then he might ruin his voice, and it echoed throughout the catacombs they were in. The darkness at the ends of the hallway were, thankfully, void of monsters. Dream still didn't sound happy about being locked in a dark room. 

Sapnap paused for a moment, looking around the room again before he spied a pickaxe on the far wall. He went over to it and ignored the confused look Niki sent him, before picking it up and using the extra reach to pull down one of the lanterns from the ceiling. He dropped the pickaxe with the other tools on the table and took the lantern to where Dream was being held.

Dream’s smiling mask looked at him through the bars in the door, the white chalk paint which made up its front was glowing yellow in the light like the piece of glowstone he no longer had. Somehow, Dream managed to angle the mask in a way that made it look like he was staring at Sapnap through the corner of his eye, his hand grasping the bars in the door and pulling at it as if it would give. What Dream had done with the glowstone, Sapnap wasn't sure, but he still took the time to hang the lantern just outside Dream’s cell. 

“Sapnap,” Dream said, his voice short like they were running out of time, “Get me out of here.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, and Dream went quiet again, “They don't trust you.”

“Why?”

He asked it like it was the most illogical thing Sapnap could have possibly said, but he still didn't say anything further on it until Sapnap was able to tell him. He took a moment to find words. 

“You know how I thought the-” he looked over his shoulder and went quiet, “the _other-Fundy_ was around? Well, now I'm not thinking, I know.”

“Sapnap,” he said, “before I met George and other-George, I'd never seen anything like me, and now you're saying there’s multiple? There’s an other-you? An other-friend of yours? There’s not. There’s just… things happening, and we’re getting suspicious over nothing. You and I, we haven't even _seen_ anything. Why do your friends not trust me? Don't they care about George?” 

Sapnap sighed and went to talk, but a flash of light from the main room caught his attention and he turned to look. For a moment he didn't move, holding the lantern up near Dream’s face and looking to his left, but then he hung the lantern on the wall and took a step back into the light. Dream’s hand shot through the gap in the door to grab him, but Sapnap was already too far away. 

“What’s that?” he asked, watching. 

“It’s an End portal,” Tommy said, still smothering Techno with blankets as if it would fix his internal bleeding, “It’s just dumb looking. Phil went into it.”

“That is not an End portal,” Sapnap said and took a step closer. 

A round, white portal glowed in the other room, the one that Sapnap had noticed the light coming from before, and while it ebbed and flowed like a pool of water it was actually suspended mid-air. If not for the obvious colour difference, Sapnap might have been tempted to call it an End portal too, and the only obvious other difference was the fact that the portal’s frame was made out of some sort of wicker or woven plant material, similar to the ash-like vines that covered the ceiling and some of the walls. It seemed like something Sapnap (and Phil, for that matter, didn't he know better?) really shouldn't step into, but with the rest of the underground being so hostile looking, it made sense to stay near such a bright light source. 

But something about the portal irked him, be it the colour or its location, its framing or its purpose. Sapnap looked into the portal and saw a mirror, with the ceiling and impression of its bricks clear, and his own face skewed. His reflection stared into him, like it knew what he was thinking and wanted to take it from him. 

“Sapnap,” Fundy said, and he turned back to the land of the living. He looked back at the portal and took a step away. 

“This…” he paused, “This is going to sound insane.”

“I’m feeling it,” Fundy replied, putting both hands out in front of him and making a ‘bring it’ motion with his fingers. He didn't look like he would be rattled by anything, like he had seen so much shit in the past few days that one more thing added to the pile would just be another fact of life rather than something he should fight. 

“You said Phil went through here?” Sapnap asked and Fundy nodded. 

Sapnap took another couple of steps down from the portal. Fundy didn't seem too fazed at the fact that Sapnap was mesmerized by it, by his own reflection in the mirror-like portal, and he had to ask Fundy, even if it was his own curiosity. 

“It’s like a mirror.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you, well, see yourself in it?”

“Yeah, it was like looking in a river though.”

“How come?”

“Distorted. You know?”

“Right, yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” 

Fundy shrugged half-heartedly, before continuing, “All of us had a bit of a messed-up reflection in different ways, you know? Niki said she couldn't see herself in it, but didn't want to look when we all wanted to see for ourselves. Who knows what’s on the other side, though. It could just be a link to another part of the map for all we know.”

He said it in a way that was so blasé that it made Sapnap pause, looking at Fundy out the corner of his eye as the half-druid just fanned his tail back and forth. Fundy was usually pretty good at expecting the unexpected, but being able to just say stuff like that was… unsettling. 

So Sapnap lied.

“Dream said he… he’s been through one before.”

Fundy’s eyebrow rose.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s monsters and stuff, a lot of bad things, but he told me there’s a way out and it’s always in the same place, but obviously, you know, if Phil doesn't know that…”

Fundy seemed to understand, and he didn't point out how Sapnap was fidgeting.

“Should we let Dream go in, then?”

“No, I- I still don't think that’s a good idea. 

He was still wearing his bag. George’s axe was still strapped to his back, and the sheath and sword swung from his hip. The load he carried was lighter than before, no longer having so much food or water to carry but still having enough for a day or so. He had his potions, his other baseline essentials like the bedroll and the flint and steel, but he also had the pouch of sewing supplies and leather skins on his side, which weighed him down just a little more. 

“I’m just going to…” he trailed off as he pointed to the bag Dream had been carrying with him, and Fundy shrugged and left him to it. 

He had to hurry.

He dropped the sewing bag, the one with the leather skins, string and needle and thread, before he ditched the jar of jam and almonds too. He kept the package of jerky, along with the flint and steel, citronella (a known Enderman repellent) and the two weapons. The potions stayed, including the three empty bottles, but he pulled his waterskin free to tap into Dream’s, letting his own get two-thirds full before closing them both. Going through Dream’s bag, he pulled free the bandages (he’d forgotten about those – they would have saved a potion if Dream had produced them when they were healing Techno), the piers and the secateurs, and finally the small knife Dream liked to keep on his person at almost all times. The blade of the knife was almost the size of a leaf, curved at the end and brutally sharp. He slipped it back into its sheath and used the hook to put it on his belt. 

Sapnap looked at the encampment, at the cracked floor and dripping walls, and at the weirdly lush ceiling, before he took one step, two, and faced the portal again.

“Sapnap!” Niki shouted, but it was too late.

He twisted just in time to see them disappear from his sight as, falling backwards through the portal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Seriously, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments so far :) the work is now 100% complete, and the last chapter will be coming out on the 31st of October. let me know what you think of things so far!
> 
> (and on a side note, you didn't really think Techno would be dead, did you? he never dies, and he is... kinda hot ngl. jk. or am I?)


	7. Chapter 6: Tiny Little Fractures

Two days earlier. 

The night was oppressive. The forest stood silent. The bonfire crackled, and the houses stood motionless. It moved through the underbrush like a predator would stalk its prey, and it salivated imagining what it would be like when it came across what it was looking for again. 

It was a shame it was so far away now, no longer just outside the entrance to their world, but in the long run it didn’t really matter. Wilbur was decaying, and all it had to do was find this copy-cat of Wilbur in order to save the life of its friend. They didn’t suffer from old age in the same way that animals did, but since Wilbur wasn’t in any sort of position to do it himself, then this more… violent method would have to suffice. 

“Do you know what he was up to, then? He seemed pretty shaken,” Wilbur said as Sapnap left the house for water, but George just shook his head, his hair falling behind his glasses and getting into his eyes. 

“He’s been on edge lately. I don't think he and Dream get on.”

“Oh,” Wilbur lay down again on the table and sighed, looking like he wanted to sleep the injury off for a year and a day, “Well, after he basically saved my life I'm sure Dream and I will get on just fine. With you and Sapnap too, of course, but you know.”

In the light of the campfire outside, George could see Dream following Sapnap off in the direction of the river and he sighed. Dream probably wasn't helping his and Sapnap’s relationship by following him about and interrogating him, but that was the same way he and Dream had met and bonded, so he supposed it was the only thing the tree-person knew how to do when it came to humans. Wilbur being there might be a good opportunity to introduce him to more people without him being too overwhelming when trying to find out more about them, but it was too early to be broaching the subject. 

Just as George was about to mention that Dream was a little different compared to the rest of them, Wilbur yawned loudly and put one hand above his head, letting the other rest over his wound. 

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Wilbur said as he rubbed his hand up and down the bandage, letting his fingers dislodge the edges slightly. 

“My house has a spare bed,” George said as he pulled the door to Sapnap’s house again and propped it open with a rock, “It beats sleeping on a table or sharing a bed with Sapnap or Dream.”

“I know that Sapnap snores, but what does Dream do?”

“He wiggles.”

“Ah.”

“His house is also missing a wall right now, so…”

“Right. I’ll take the spare bed then if you’re willing to take me.” 

“Sure, just – “ George paused as he picked up the last few things from Sapnap’s house that he’d need, “–give me a second.” 

He picked up the whole medical kit (really it was just a mishmash of items they deemed suitable for healing. The kit had a hand saw in it, of all things) and put in a couple of potions for Wilbur to drink when the numbing effect of the regeneration potion wore off, along with a roll of bandages. He left the secateurs and pliers on the table for him to clean when Sapnap got back with the water, before tucking the kit under one arm. 

“Can you stand?” he asked, but held out an arm for Wilbur to take anyway. 

“Maybe, hang on.” 

It took some manoeuvring, but Wilbur was eventually upright and on two feet, and with George’s help, they made their way through the door and towards the other house across the clearing. 

It was an eerie night without Sapnap and Dream to fill the space, and it reminded him of the moments earlier when Sapnap had been at the waterside as well, when he felt the prickly feeling that followed him around in the old world and he had to go inside. The crickets were quiet that night, for the first time in a while, and the forest had never boasted cicadas to fill the silence either. The only thing he could hear other than himself and Wilbur moving between the two buildings was the sound of the bonfire and of the foliage around them settling into place. George wondered, in a way that made him feel childish, if the plants moved around when he wasn’t looking. 

The forest made sounds all the time, often just bits of plants swishing against one another or moving when insects bounced between them, and tonight was no exception. After Dream had burst through the greenery at the north side of their settlement the sound came from there most of all, with moths fluttering in the light and looking a bit like angels in the darkness. 

There had been peace since he had been found by Sapnap, but sometimes George felt like it was all coming to a head – Dream and Sapnap didn't get along like he had hoped, and Dream still spent a lot of time away from them on the hunt for food. George didn't want to admit it, but Sapnap was right, some of Dream’s habits  _ were  _ concerning. There were less animals around their settlement than there were in winter; no wondering boar or fox crossed their path. He hadn't seen a live deer, even if Dream dragged back dead ones. The worst thing was that the feeling of being watched had returned, an ever-present weight on the back of his neck as he did day-to-day tasks. At night, the feeling grew heavier, oppressive, even, and Dream’s hunting habits did nothing but make it worse. 

They’d work on it, he reasoned. 

Entering his home, George helped Wilbur onto one of the chairs and went to light a lantern, putting it on the small table across the room so that it didn't light up the whole house like a beacon in the darkness. Since his was built after Dream had woken up, they’d had little time to completely plan out the structure or the layout, but that meant more privacy with walls in odd places, or shelves where he hadn't originally intended to have shelves. Dream’s old bed, hardly used, was on the bottom floor against the far wall and invisible when you first came through the door due to one of those strangely placed walls. It still had some bedding on – just a spare sheet and an uncovered pillow, but it was still better than the table that Wilbur was lying on before.

On the right side a pair of trap doors lay open and revealed a passage down into the cave system they found below their settlement, which made a weird old-stone scent fill the house, one that he hadn't smelt since the last time he went into a stronghold. Wilbur noticed it too, and as George guided him over to the bed on the far wall he spoke up.

“Do you tend to do the digging, then?”

“No, usually it's me and Sapnap.” 

“Not Dream?”

“He’s scared of the dark.”

Wilbur chucked, “I think we all are sometimes.” 

George shrugged, not really wanting to say anything more about it. While Wilbur didn't say anything, it felt like he was either waiting for a response or expecting him not to answer. 

With Wilbur safely on the bed, he took a moment to look back out the small, glassless windows on the side of the house, thinking he saw something among the blades of grass, but the only thing that moved were the plants themselves. He took another moment to watch the space before turning back to Wilbur, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“Nothing. Just thought I saw Dream coming back. I’m going to go and get you a blanket, Sapnap keeps some in his house.”

“Hey, hang on,” Wilbur said as he reached out to grab George’s arm, and he stopped to look back at the other man, “This Dream guy seems… I don’t want to say anything about it, since you obviously care a lot about him, but the way Sapnap reacted was off. And I haven’t said a word to Dream about anything. Are you sure those two are…?”

George huffed, his chest puffing out like an offended rooster, but he entertained Wilbur’s question anyway. “They’re working on it,” he said, “Dream and I, in the world we were in before this one, it was the first time he’d met a human.”

Wilbur’s brows furrowed.

“’A human’?”

“Yeah.”

“But… Is he a half-druid, then?”

George closed his mouth.

Wilbur was looking concerned now, and while he was holding George’s arm less of a tight grip than before, it was still enough to keep him there unless he wanted to put up a fight. He and Wilbur were, at one point, not very friendly towards one another, and while they had taken the time to put plaster over the cracks, it evidently wasn’t a permanent fix.

“I’ll tell you in a minute, okay? I’ll get the blankets from Sapnap’s house and come right back.” 

“You and Sapnap trust this guy, yeah?”

“I do, yes.”

“But Sapnap does too, right?”

George shrugged slightly, but replied, “uh-huh.”

“Okay, good. It’s just, if whatever that shot me is still out there, then we need all the friends we can get.”

George nodded, and Wilbur let his arm go.

George pulled the door open and let it swing shut behind him, since there was no handy rock or anything nearby to prop it open, and he took a moment to look around at the night time surrounding the settlement. The air was cold.

The trail Sapnap and Dream had taken to the waterside was to his left, and to his right the area of the forest where Dream had come through with Wilbur, both of which had an obvious mark from where the plants had been pushed aside. He heard nothing from where Sapnap and Dream had gone to the river, so he took another step forward. 

Quick as a flash, an arrow shot in front of him and landed with a smack in the doorframe to Sapnap’s house, lodging itself in with a twang and making George turn his head. With horror, he watched as a dark orange figure crouched between the foliage Dream had pushed aside and reloaded its crossbow.

George moved just in time to avoid another shot. 

“Wilbur!” he yelled, shoving himself shoulder first through the door to his house.

“Huh?”

“The guy– Fundy–“

George wasn't able to get the words out, instead lodging one of the pickaxes in his house behind the door as a barricade. He swept over to the bed, hoisting Wilbur up under one arm and grabbing the single piece of glowstone Dream had given him when they made their houses together that spring, and Wilbur gained his footing just in time as the copy-cat (tree-person? monster?) to kick at the door. 

“Shit,” Wilbur said, panicked. 

The single entrance to the house was a no-go, and with no other option, George pulled him to the trap doors which lead into the caverns. 

The crude steps he and Sapnap had carved out did little to help their footing, since the ceiling was rough and low, and Wilbur needed not only George’s support to walk but needed to duck down as to stay upright. It was narrow at the best of times, but with their fumbling steps down past the torches and the unfinished bits of staircase it was difficult not to take whatever time they could, watching the steps, anticipating another bolt shot at any moment. They turned a corner, taking the winding, claustrophobic path down, before emerging in one of the naturally occurring caves they had unearthed when they were digging. 

“This way,” George said and yanked Wilbur in the same direction.

While fairly well lit, the oppressive closeness of the caves was something George would have lived happily without for the rest of his life, and being followed through it was a nightmare come true. Each corner, every dark spot, had the potential to hold something that wasn't meant to be seen with human eyes, or not even meant to be perceived at all. He could only imagine how long the other-George had been watching, following him around, but to have one of…  _ them _ actively seeking them out and wanting to do harm? 

But there was no time. 

Left, right, down, down. Wilbur heaved his breaths and clutched his ribs like someone suffering an asthma attack, with George dragging him along and trying to ignore the  _ pink, pink _ noise of something behind them loading another bolt. With a  _ whoosh _ and a ricocheting explosion, another bolt hit the stone to their left like dynamite, with rocks crumbling from the surface and knocking over a torch. Running through something more than night, the next torch was invisible to the eye, so George hoped, prayed, and used his memory to pull them to the right. 

Almost like suffocating, the darkness ate them whole. 

He could hear the static-like closeness of the darkness from his dreams appearing behind them, before them, and tangling around their feet like fish in a pool. The cave was deathly silent and filled with crashing noises at once; their feet on the stones, the sound of their breathing, the weird, warped way that sound travelled in the caves shook him and he felt dizzy, sea sick. 

Stumbling like new-born lambs, they felt their way along the walls, the noises only coming from themselves rather than some other, unknown entity, but the undertones in the darkness carried with it the faint sound of the crossbow being drawn again in the darkness. While the darkness wouldn't hurt them there, George felt like he couldn't breathe, like they were moving through water rather than air, like he was running out of oxygen. 

In the caves, in the darkness, he had no way of telling how far or how long they had been moving. 

Eventually though, who-knows how many miles below the surface, a light came from the tunnel. Phosphorous, if he had to guess, or a stray torch in an abandoned mineshaft – either way, being able to see and ask if Wilbur was okay after the exertion was a blessing. Whatever the glow came to be, it hopefully meant a moment to take stock, even if for a second. 

But the walls were brick now, having changed in the darkness when they couldn't see it, sleeping with moisture from he assumed the rain the day before, and the floor had a layer of liquid coating what felt like cobblestones. As he dragged Wilbur’s flagging body around the corner, he realised something else. 

It wasn't phosphorous, or a torch, a lantern or fire, or a Nether portal or redstone dust. 

Shoes sloshing, Wilbur wheezing like a dying animal, and George with his glasses smudged, he dragged them both with heavy feet towards a dish-like portal at the top of a basalt staircase. It swirled and twisted like a whirlpool, its centre seemingly lower than the rest of it with nothing that suggested it was leading somewhere specific, and its bright white colour faded to a sickly green throughout the rest of the room. The very edges of the portal looked like vines, or roots or something, but George just looked into it, at the lack of reflection he had and the fucked-up looking one of Wilbur. All he could see in the space representing himself was the ceiling, and Half of Wilbur’s reflection, it’s face, looked like it was slipping off, and he realised Wilbur wasn't even looking into it. 

_ Clink, clink, clink _ . 

“F-Fundy?” 

Filled with half dread and half sick curiosity, George turned from the portal to see what Wilbur saw. 

Wood. 

He was made of wood, this other-Fundy was hunched over like a wolf sneaking up on a deer and had its hat tipped back on its head, its crossbow in both hands before it and aiming at the space between them. It was close enough that there wasn't a way around it without brushing past, and on appearance alone, George could confidently say he didn't want to.

While Fundy himself was a half-druid, this… thing was some mockery of the same thing. It looked like a poorly made carving, with the only thing making it look like Fundy being vague features – two eyes, a crooked black nose, orange skin (fur? bark?) and the thin clothing across its body. However, its face didn't look like something that belonged to a living creature. Its eyes slipped down its face. Its nose was too far to the left. Its fanged mouth went so far down its muzzle that it reached the neck of its coat. If he had to describe it, he would say it was an artwork, incomplete. 

Other-Fundy opened its maw and gurgled a laugh at them with a mouth full of knives, its fingers flexing over the trigger of the crossbow. 

It felt like an eternity, but the other-Fundy’s finger clenched over the trigger.

George pulled them through the portal before it had a chance to fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Eyes emoji*
> 
> One of you guessed it, congrats! anyway, here's George and Wilbur in pain.


	8. Chapter 7: An Empire of Ash

Sapnap woke up and stared at the sky with bleary, unseeing eyes. 

He sniffed at the air. He moved his limbs around from side to side. He rubbed his hands against the floor below him. He listened. 

Something smelt like dry wood, like the sort of wood that was aged and to be used on a fire because it wasn’t suitable for building with, and something about the air in the new world seemed drier than his own. His hands brushed small stones and bits of dirt as he swept them around, and at one point his hand brushed against his sword, the blade almost cutting his hand open. The surface was uninterrupted by anything larger than gravel, and no plants covered the surface. He could hear creaking, like an old house settling.

He breathed in deeply. 

Time to get up, he supposed. And he was having such fun staring up at the charcoal-grey abyss above him, too. 

He pressed a hand to his head as he rose up, the trip through the portal having knocked the wind out of him and it had caused a splitting headache to pulse between his ears like the bass in a song, but when Sapnap managed to open his eyes again he couldn’t focus on the feeling of it for much longer. 

Eyes flickering, taking it all in, he waited for a moment in the dirt just to get his bearings. 

A grey sky, devoid of any stars, sun or clouds hung in the sky like a blanket over whatever world he landed in, muffling all sound and making no wind. The sight was interrupted by the bright yellow, sickly leaves of ash trees of above average height and width, or too weak to remain upright, and in thick trunks across the floor where they had decayed and died. Cornus, bright as blood, drew upwards from the floor and created a barrier around the clearing which looked difficult to get through, but the oddest part about the whole place was the single, footpath-like trail across the clearing and opposite him. 

His sword, which he had been holding when he went through the portal, stuck out from the floor a couple of feet to his left, and the bag was across the clearing too, closer to the edge of the woods. 

The way forward was clear, then. All he had to do was keep going. 

So Sapnap grabbed his things, putting the sword to his side and the bag on his back, before he wandered along the path. 

It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant experience, walking through the forest that was as quiet as the dead, but was an unsettling one at best. 

The forest didn't change in what plants it provided, with only ash trees – living or dead – and the cornus, which thrived like a thing alive. While it remained leafless throughout the whole time he was walking, it warped and wavered as if it had been exposed to high humidity for years, but the realm was dry to the point where Sapnap could feel his own skin becoming itchy and dry on his own face. 

While he didn't sweat, since it wasn't warm enough to do so, he still felt the exhaustion that came with moving for such a long period of time. He’d left the clock Dream carried in the other bag, seeing as different dimensions didn't usually need time to be tracked, but he still wished to have something, anything, to tell where he was in the new world. 

So he went further.

Time passed, but he had no idea how long, trees passed, but he had no idea how many, and Sapnap felt as tired as the dead. 

His feet ached with how far he had walked, and since he and Dream hadn't had a chance to recover from the journey so far, he was feeling it more than he had in the other world. With little rest, no breaks to collect himself, and a half-empty stomach, Sapnap took each step purposefully. Resting in an unfamiliar place was inadvisable at the best of times, but in an unknown one like this? It was a death wish.

The ground beneath his feet was almost loamy, like thick grass or a sponge, and he could see markings in the dirt which were not fresh enough to identify, or had been intentionally brushed over. At points, he swore he saw the imprint of boots or shoes on the floor, and at other times, he saw hooves, but neither of them were solid enough to differentiate from the rest of the markings on the floor. It could have been nothing, but critically, it could have been anything too. 

Sapnap moved a few more feet up the path but stopped at the sight of fresher, more easily identifiable footprints in the dirt. They were definitely hooves, cloven like Techno’s and a similar size, but as he tilted his head from left to right, assessing the prints, something shifted further up the path, a movement behind the trees, and Sapnap’s eyes went wide. A deer-like creature pulled its way through the underbrush and onto the path. Just as it turned its head to look down the path, he dived to the side, tumbling through the cornus and hiding behind a fallen log, then inside it when it cracked open like a coffin. 

Time moved, syrupy. 

The breathing of the deer-like animal was the same volume as before, and it hadn't moved since he spotted it, but he felt the need to hold a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his own noises. 

Sapnap had no idea if the animal was friendly or not, but he didn't fancy trying to find out. He couldn't outrun the deer, the length of its legs showed that pretty clearly, and he couldn't kill it either, and so he waited with baited breath for the thing to move on. 

Looking through the crack in the fallen tree, the whole world was on its side, with the thick branches of cornus going from right to left and the clear path awaiting the creature he had just seen. And for a moment, he could only hear the deer-like creature coming closer, walking down the same path he had been travelling on, and then it appeared in his eyeline once again. 

It was an off-looking white-blue colour, like when milk is used to soak blueberries, with hooves the size of his head and legs as long as his whole body. In build, it was similar to that of a moose, but the three red eyes he had seen on its head before ducking for cover made him think of the faint pinpricks of a soul inside the reanimated skeletons of their old worlds. All four of its legs passed in front of his view, the hooves silent on the dirt floor, before it's long, sweeping tail went behind and brushed the footprints away. 

He remained there for a moment, the hand still covering his nose and mouth, before he took it from his face and peeked out at the path. Nothing to the left, nothing to the right, and he left the hiding hole in the dead tree, its rust-red insides leaving a dirty stain on his not-so-white shirt. 

Picking up the bag and the sword from where they had come loose inside the tree, Sapnap pulled himself free from the reaching branches of cornus, kicking them back when one got stuck on his trouser leg. He sighed, looking at where the deer had gone and waiting to make sure it wouldn't reappear. Counting to ten, then back down, Sapnap turned his gaze away and moved. 

Knowing now that he wasn't completely alone was worse – it was easier to take the path when he could excuse it as just a fluke that the forest didn't grow properly, but the deer had used the path like it was the way it always travelled, a familiar route, and Sapnap was suddenly the imposter. 

It was easier to forget the wariness he had been feeling earlier so that he could figure out where he needed to go, what he needed to do, to get out of there. Even if he never saw George again, or any of the others, a life condemned to live in a wasteland like this one was too awful a thought to bear. If he was stuck there with no exit or enemy, he’d be there until his food and water ran out. 

Starvation was, in most people’s opinions, the worst way to go. Sapnap used to insist it was drowning, but thinking about it, starvation was the same thing in slow motion. The weakness was slower, the darkness faded in, and movement weighed heavier. It was drowning in air, the only thing left to fill you, and you could feel every single thing along the way. He shuddered. 

It got to the point where, eventually, he didn't know where he was going, where he came from, and what he was really looking for. 

Unlike the End, there wasn't a clear objective – no dragon to slay or portal to activate – and unlike the Nether, there was seemingly nothing worth trying to find, and when the danger wasn’t obvious, the safest path was really the only one.

The path came to a corner, and as Sapnap reached it, he jumped back. 

He held his breath again, heart beating frantically out of his chest like a rabbit running at top speed through an open field. He wasn't entirely sure what he saw – how could he be when he hadn't even gone around the corner completely – but one glance at the milky blue colour had been enough to send a shock like electricity through his system. But listening, waiting for a moment, he didn't hear any more movement up ahead. 

Tentatively, he poked his head around the corner and let out a sigh of relief. 

The deer-creature was dead, just lying in the middle of the path with its back to Sapnap and its legs splayed out before it. With no less caution than before, he took step after gradual step towards the dead deer to assess the damage. 

The animal had three deep holes in the side which faced upwards, and its legs were tucked under one another like it was mid-run. The creature's three eyes were white instead of red, unsettlingly so, and were paler than the rest of its fur. The most striking thing about the carcass was the way it bled – a thin, yellowish liquid not unlike the juice of a peach came out of the similarly coloured insides, but it struck Sapnap that it looked almost like the infectious disease of oak wilt. It had a similar, almost oxidised colour around where the holes were in the deer’s side, and the great horns on the deer’s head were yellowing. It might have just been how it decomposed, but Sapnap could only hope it wasn't contagious to humans. 

But he had to pause. What had caused it to die, the disease-like symptoms or the injury? What could have even caused the injury in the first place? 

Sticking to the edge of the path now, and skirting around the edge of the deer, he kept going, ducking lower, avoiding the reaching branches of cornus and looking deeper into the woods in case of danger. Eventually, when he looked up again, up the strange path in the forest, he had to stop. 

Similar to the black tower from before, the one he had found Technoblade near-dead inside, a building that could only be called a fortress stood like a monolith above the trees, tall and strong, and nowhere near as ruined as the tower from before. It was too far to make out any specific details, but it seemed to be staggered, like a spiral staircase ran up the sides of it and stopped at different landings on the way up, and while the material it was made out of was darker than the sky above him, a bright mint-coloured light came from a window at its highest point. It’s tapering shape cast no shadow, and on the grey sky, it loomed.

He stared at the tower for a moment, seeing how its shape and monumental size left only a void in the sky, before he couldn't tell which actually occurred – him blinking, or a lightning strike coming from the featureless sky and hitting the tower. 

But as he stared up at it for a moment longer, still trying to work it out in his head, the flash came again, sky to tower, and sounded out like a bomb throughout the realm. It hit whatever it targeted. He remembered Fundy explaining that Phil had come through the portal before him, and then what Phil usually carried, and realised.

Sapnap picked himself up, dusted off his hands on his legs, and moved. 

The tower grew closer and closer, his feet pelting against the floor as he ran towards the staircase which spiralled up the side of the fortress like a spinal cord. As he reached it, the cornus on the sides of the path grew thicker, taller, and the ash trees were more dead than alive. Some of them were split open from where the lightning had struck and an unnatural, red sap oozed from them, but he couldn't tell if it was because of a disease from the realm or something else. Eventually, within a hundred metres or so of the tower, there were no trees at all. The path stretched to the staircase, overrun with more cornus, but the only way up.

A crash came from above, violent, angry. He took the overgrown stairs up as a shadow swooped overhead, and when he looked he saw another flash of lightning along with a burst of light from something soaring off the first level of the tower. There wasn't time to pause, but Sapnap watched anyway, frozen to the spot as a caped figure wearing an elytra soared from the top of the tower and dived back in. 

An explosion came from above. Sapnap ran up the steps two at a time.

Out of breath, he hid behind the lip of the first plateau and watched, mouth open. 

Philza, and another copy of Philza, threw tridents at one another in almost a game of tag. He had to pause, among the stray strands of electricity and cracks of lightning to just watch as the Phil he didn't recognise dashed across the black stone floor as he avoided the attacks of his opposite, who hung in the sky like a butterfly – easy to see but difficult to catch. He had no doubt in his mind the one wearing the elytra was the real one.

He could see a doorway into the tower on the other side of the battlefield. He’d have to either go around the other-Phil without being noticed or help the real Phil in killing it. 

Ducking behind the wall of the tower again, he pulled his sword to his side and dragged his bag before him. 

Bandages, food, water, and – gotcha. Sapnap pulled the potion of strength from his bag and put it to one side. The battle raging above him got more frantic, and one of the tridents sailed over the edge of the platform they were using as a battlefield, setting a tree on fire below, and Sapnap had to duck as it loyally swung back to one of its owners. He popped the potion open, the ill-scent of Nether wart and charcoal coming from the spout as he raised it to his lips, retched, and then drank. It slithered down his throat like a slug, all in one. 

He pulled himself together and clambered up the wall.

The other-Phil (and he could tell now it was definitely the imposter – it’s coat was too thin to be the thick linin of Phil’s own) faced away, rearing back its arm with the trident in hand. Sapnap trod lightly, running as fast as he could to avoid being electrocuted, and drew his blade. A trident launched towards the other-Phil, and as it turned to avoid the attack, it’s eyes locked with Sapnap’s. 

It bared its teeth, put its arm out to the side and caught its loyal trident just in time to jump back from Sapnap’s slice of the sword. 

“You,” It seemed to say around gritted teeth, but Sapnap wasn’t listening.

He ducked to the side to avoid a stab, and he heard Phil beat the wings of the elytra above him like a typhoon. The other-Phil, its eyes as empty as a bottomless sea, had its fine, root-like hair in its face and a half pleased and half furious look on his face, but it moved like it had been waiting for a fight all its life. Its movements were jerky, its teeth were bared, and it laughed like a thing possessed. 

Sapnap lunged, narrowly avoiding another stab, and sliced. 

The laughing stopped, and a long, pained wail came from other-Phil’s still smiling mouth as it stumbled back. It wasn't dead, still standing, with a hand covering the five-inch-long hole in its stomach that Sapnap had managed to create. It raised one hand to look at the not-blood covering its hand, and the smile slipped off its face, replaced by fury. _That should have killed it_ , Sapnap thought, _why didn’t that kill it_?

He jogged backwards as other-Phil reared the trident back again, the aqua coloured weapon glinting, and a trident came from the sky and hit it through the chest; it was pinned to the floor. 

The trident fell from other-Phil’s hand, clattering to the floor with a few stray sparks before it went quiet, and the Phil in the sky didn't retrieve his trident immediately. Sapnap could only assume it was in case the other-Phil wasn't quite dead, and for a while he wasn't sure if it was either. 

It didn't bleed red, and instead a sap-like substance came out of it in a deep, unsettling brown, almost like chocolate or maple syrup. It came out of it in a similarly gooey consistency too, thick like it had been sloshing around inside it rather than being pumped. Once Sapnap thought of a raspberry, the imagery of biting into one and it popping wouldn’t leave him alone.

Sapnap took one step forward, then two, and just in case his fears were right, he raised the sword and sunk it into the centre of its chest. A gurgle, some more ‘blood’, and other-Phil was definitely dead. 

He breathed. The beating of an elytra came from above. There was no more lightning and Phil landed softly beside him – the first, although abstract, softness he had felt in days. 

“I hope you know how to leave this place mate, because I sure don't.”

Taking another deep breath, Sapnap turned to look at Phil, who seemed only a little rattled with his hair frizzy from all the static electricity. He had deep, dark bags under his eyes like he had been there a while, and his clothes were dirty from (Sapnap assumed) the stronghold they found the portal in. He had a bag full of rockets strapped under his elytra, and a flint and steel in his other hand. 

Like Sapnap, Phil looked like he wanted nothing more than to get out of there. 

“Why are you here?” Sapnap couldn't help but ask, his voice coming across more annoyed than he intended, but Phil only gave a sheepish smile. Phil was like that; could see through emotions better than the rest of them, regardless of situation.

He didn't seem too worse for wear – only exerted from the fight and breathing quite heavily as the elytra shifted on his back. He had another bag with him, closed, and Sapnap could only assume it held the bare essentials. They probably didn't think Phil was coming back. Phil probably didn't either. 

Phil was that kind of person too; one to take the arrow if it meant no one else had to. 

“We wanted to know where the portal went,” Phil explained, “and out of all of us, sans maybe Techno, I have the best track record, you know.” 

Sapnap didn't say anything, and while he could feel the frown still deep on his own face, he shrugged. 

“Why are you here?” Phil asked as he went to retrieve the trident in his other. He stared at the body for a moment, taking in the misplaced eyes and lopsided mouth, along with the distinctly wooden skin, before pulling it free and letting the dead body slump to the floor like an unwanted doll. 

The other-Phil, up close, didn't even look remotely human. Humanoid, yes, but the ferocity and violence that remained on its face even in death was something Sapnap had never seen with his own eyes before, and he had lived with some very competitive people. It was a complete opposite to what Phil was like in reality, but even still Sapnap couldn't bear the thought of his friend holding that expression – something awful would have had to have happened for him to even hold an ounce of what fury the other-Phil held. Phil was looking between him and the body, so he drew back. The other-Phil’s blood pooled on the floor, thick. 

He tried not to think about it as he answered. 

“George went missing. Wilbur too.”

“Wilbur found you?”

“He did.”

“I assume he told you where we were then.”

“Yeah.”

“And you found the tower.”

“And Techno, he told us-”

“Oh, thank god he’s alive,” Phil was genuinely relieved, and he sat on the stone floor with weight, “so he told you to go down?”

“He didn't tell us, we just made the decision to, since, you know…”

“‘Us’? It wasn't just you?”

Sapnap hesitated. Phil turned sombre. 

“Did someone die?”

“I trusted them, but now I'm not sure I do.”

“Someone I know?”

“No.”

“Ah, okay.” Phil said, and he stood, “So long as they’re not here, let’s not dawdle. I assume George or Wilbur are around here–“ 

A scream. 

It echoed off the stone and the trees and the cornus, coming from above like the beam of a lighthouse. He and Phil looked up, then at one another, and ran towards the door to the tower.

Like someone possessed, the thing at the top of the tower wailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that Techno and Phil are my favourites? Anyway, enjoy!


	9. Chapter 8: Darkness

Water dripped elsewhere. 

He breathed as deeply as he could with the injury to his neck twinging as his body moved. He didn't remember getting hurt, or even where he was, but the ache went deep inside him like the wound of a knife or an arrow, piercing him. 

Listening keenly, he could hear movement like an old house settling in the sunshine, creaking, relaxing. The space smelt like wet stone, almost mildew in quality. Still water. 

He moved. 

“Urgh,” George said, still not opening his eyes as his back twinged with the movement. He felt like he had been gargling gravel. 

“Blurhbgh,” he said again when he couldn't get his back to stop sending out flares of pain as the cramps came through his back. It was as if he and Sapnap had been roughhousing a little too roughly, like they did when they were younger and didn't know boundaries. Life wasn't necessarily simpler back then, but the memories were always rose tinted, sweeter somehow and bitter at the same time. And at the time it was easier, then, laying on the floor like he didn't have a fear in the world and pretending that wherever he was didn't exist, but eventually, the pain, the damp and the unknown just got to him. He couldn't lay there forever. 

He opened his eyes. 

He blinked. 

“What…” 

He leant up on his forearms, examining the cell that he didn't remember entering (or being shoved into) and trying to get the ill feeling out of his neck when the movement jostled the injury he had apparently gained since being asleep. It was like he had just gotten out of surgery – his head hurt and his body hurt and everything just hurt – and he didn't recognise the ward he woke up in. But it was a cell, a prison cell, and he wasn't someone who had just woken up from surgery (even if it sure felt like it). 

The cell was made of a dark, cold stone, similar to basalt but with a smoother texture, and the bars appeared to be made of something other than iron, but he couldn't tell what material it was from sight alone. He smacked his dry lips together at the sound of water moving somewhere nearby, and his back was damp from the floor. Other than the walls, the floor and the bars, the only other things in the cell were a crack on the far wall with a red, root-like substance sneaking through, and the wall to his right had a ledge hanging from it which dipped in the middle with a stagnant pool of water. 

All George could do from the floor was get up, but when he tried to the pain in his throat came back in an explosion of fire across his neck. With a grunt he fell back to the floor. 

So he waited. Some time passed – an unknown amount – as he tried to piece together fragments of memories from the settlement. 

There was Sapnap, them talking, laughter. There was… them walking together to the docks which Phil had built specifically to fish from, but they only ever used it to dive in. 

They had swam to the other side of the cove, got out of the water, and… something exploded. 

And it all came back in a flash. 

Forest, Dream, darkness, cold. Forest, cold, loneliness, Sapnap. Forest, spring, Dream, and-- and summer. The night Wilbur appeared, and when they ran. 

Well, there was no point getting panicked about it now, he thought in a panic, and all he could do was press the heels of his palms to his eyes and wish he wasn't there. Hopefully they’d forget about him, not just the tree-people that were keeping him there but Sapnap and Dream too; he had no idea if there was a way out of that place, or where he even was, considering the lack of windows and visuals outside of the cell. If Sapnap or Dream found the portal and came after him, all it would mean was more trouble. He didn't want to cause any more trouble. 

A sickening wave of dread and regret washed over him as he sniffed. His throat still ached, his body still flared up with pain from being on the floor for an unknown amount of time, and he ached with the loss of everything. Wilbur was gone, Sapnap and Dream were back in the safety of their settlement (he hoped) and whatever place Wilbur came from was just going to move on without him. The pain of not even being able to tell them, to inform them of his own failure in protecting his old friend, was the final drop that broke the dam, and George sobbed. 

His noises, despite his best efforts, came out like a cough in his cell, and bounced outside it too, loud in the small, quiet space. 

But then a clunk came from somewhere, loud like a body dropping to the floor and George jumped, his tears forgotten for the sake of panic. 

Voices, quiet, came unseen from the right. He listened but none of it was distinct enough to stand out. There was nowhere to hide – no walls to go behind or other objects to obscure the view. It was as if he was a wild animal in a cage, a dangerous thing meant to be kept in case it caused damage, or more worryingly, a prize. 

“I don't want to talk to it.”

“I know.”

“It looks like him.”

“It’s not him. It doesn't feel things in the same way that we do. It didn't feel anything when it killed him, and it won't feel anything now.”

“That’s true. Did Wilbur see your gift?”

“He did. He’s upset I couldn't get mine. There’ll always be another chance, at least for now.”

“You said you didn't see mine?”

“No.”

“And Phil’s came to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Lucky. Lucky, lucky, lucky.”

“You might have to venture out.”

“Not now though.”

“No. Not now.”

“You go, I have to do this now.” 

The voices stopped, the bang came again and softly, so softly, footsteps came to the not-iron bars. 

George went cold. He refused to cry in front of it. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, just staring at one another with blank, indescribable looks, but George refused to admit defeat and stayed standing. He was a wall in a storm, and he wasn't about to be blown over by appearances alone. 

But the other-Sapnap wasn't saying anything either.

It just stared at him, its eyes as dark as obsidian and without any other distinction in the low-light. Its face was more complete than the one he had seen on other-Fundy, without the lopsided eyes or crooked nose, and the only thing that really made George sure it wasn't actually Sapnap (other than, you know, not saying anything) was the slant of its mouth and the texture of its hair and skin. If George didn't know about the real Sapnap, he might have been tempted to ask if Dream and it were friends. 

It held an axe, similar to the one George left back at their settlement but with a painted, red embellishment on the handle that looked like a cat. There was a similar mark on George’s, only blue and instead of a cat it was a crow. He eyed the weapon, but the other-Sapnap didn't raise it or do anything more than hold it in one hand. 

When, eventually, he could wait in silence no more, he fished with a line;

“Are you just going to stare?”

The other-Sapnap twitched like it was turning on, activating, before its mouth moved with purposeful words. It acted like it was trying out language for the first time. 

“No.”

Which wasn't helpful. 

“What do you want?” George tried, resisting the urge to go from foot to foot. 

Other-Sapnap wasn't holding anything other than the axe, he noted with some relief, and it seemed like his belt was only holding an empty sheith, probably for a short sword, but there wasn't any other sign of another weapon as far as George could see. The only worrying thing was the look in the other-Sapnap’s eye, a glint or some other tell that if it didn't get what it wanted, George would be the one paying for it. 

“Where’s George?” It asked.

“I’m George.” 

“You’re not the real George.” 

George swallowed. 

“Where did you come from?” George asked instead of making a response. There wasn't really anything he could say to the other statement. 

“Here.”

“Where in here?”

“The cornus.”

“What’s a cornus?”

Other-Sapnap’s face twitched, like it didn't know how to respond to that either. George changed tact, taking a step forward so that he could see other-Sapnap more clearly. Its teeth were poking out of its lips. 

“How do you get to my world?”

“Your world?”

“Where I’m from.”

Other-Sapnap’s face finally moved, but it seemed confused. 

“I haven't been.”

“Like a – like a general ‘you’. How did ‘George’ get into my world?”

“Through the portal,” other-Sapnap shrugged, “he saw you. Where’s George?”

“Not here. So you’re saying there’s a portal?”

“Yes.” 

“How do you activate it?”

Other-Sapnap didn't respond. George pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. It was more annoying than scary now, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Often the things you knew best were the most unpredictable – and he couldn't afford to get comfortable. 

“How do I tell if it worked?”

“Water.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your world. Water, if it flows… rains…” 

“... Then someone has come through?”

A nod. 

George took a couple of steps back then, thinking of the winter and the dry spring they had to face when they’d arrived, but if someone came through the portal every time it rained then they would have been overwhelmed a long time ago. They only rarely went up to the river after the groundwater ran dry, and no-one was to know how many times Wilbur and his group went near to some. There were a hundred questions he could ask, but only a few that the other-Sapnap would know how to answer, so it was a matter of finding the important ones. 

“Where’s George?” Other-Sapnap asked again as it took a step towards the bars, which really made the whole situation worse. 

“Why did ‘George’ come find me?” he responded instead. There was far too much digging to do with someone as non-responsive as the doppelganger in front of him. 

Other-Sapnap looked like it didn't want to answer, and the sharp little teeth dug into its lower lip as its mouth thinned. At least it was finally starting to show a little personality, even if George didn't like what he saw. 

“Fauna is so weak,” it said with a bitter spit, and George took a step back, “It rots and it perishes with age, and the flora is stronger, but usually capable of less. To be whole, to be stronger, it needs to be combined.” 

“Yeah? Who says?”

Other-Sapnap grinned, it’s sharp, fish-like teeth filling its whole mouth, and when it unzipped the teeth to talk they glinted in the low light like opals. 

“The thing that made us, and the thing that will destroy us.”

“The cornus?”

A nod. 

“And… and?”

“The darkness.” 

George really wished he’d brushed up more on plants and supernatural happenings before being kidnapped by plant-people. 

“Are you sent to replace us?”

“We’re not sent at all. We chose to go.”

“Are you nothing without the flesh?”

“Are you nothing without the host?”

Now that was an implication George didn't even want to wrap his head around, one that made him finally connect his back with the far side of the cell as the other-Sapnap loomed on the other side of the bars. The thin strands of that red, root like plant lingered in the corner of the prison like a nasty infection, and George couldn't help but ask.

“Host?”

other-Sapnap gestured to itself. George dimly realised that it was the first time it had moved its hands. 

“We replace the body, you replace the mind. A small price for near immortality.” 

A moment of stillness. His heart was in his neck, beating around the still raw feeling of whatever had harmed his throat. He wondered, if only for a moment, if this was what surviving a slit throat was like. 

“Why do you need us? Why can't you leave us alone?”

“Why do you need us? Why can’t your friends leave us alone?” other-Sapnap asked, “So, what did you do with George?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you kill him? Murder him?”

And he opened his mouth, denial, anger, questions on his tongue, but none came out. He only registered that it wasn't him screaming when other-Sapnap looked up at the ceiling, at the black bricks, the blood-red roots, the dim lanterns, and at whatever else lay beyond those four walls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter is early tonight, but the whole thing will be up here by halloween. Thanks for the feedback so far!


	10. Chapter 9: A Very Long Game

Sometimes you need to take a step back from a situation and question, with full integrity, what the hell is going on. 

It’s a very useful skill, and a very easy one to practice and master. 

For some of us it may come to us at first easily. Sitting in bed is easy. Sitting in a chair or on transport is easy. It’s easy to look at the situation and say to yourself, “this is an easy question to answer. I am doing this, sitting, or moving, or reading, or imagining things in my head. This is what is happening,” but really it’s not so simple. You may think that you’re doing something very easy, like washing the dishes or writing something down, or drawing a picture or reading a book, and think to yourself “what the hell is going on? How did I get here? All I'm doing is sitting, reading, drawing, washing the dishes and doing the weekly shop, and I have no idea what is going on in the bigger picture. I’m just following a small task in a larger picture when I have no idea what the larger picture even is, whether it’s complete or not, or even if it's important.”

But this is the thing – sometimes you aren't even doing something questionable, you wonder what is going on not because it is questionable, but because it isn't. How do you tell if something is wrong or right if it’s ‘normal’? How do you look at a situation as someone inside the situation, while pretending you’re outside of it, and tell if it is correct or incorrect? Do you compare it to past experiences, or do you base it on what someone else was doing too?

And this is the thing, too. There is never an appropriate time for it, whether it is just past midnight or just past noon, summer or winter, autumn or spring, whether you are doing something unusual or not; there just isn't a correct time. 

When there is no correct time to contemplate this, is any time the correct time?

He had been in a situation similar to this, at one point, when it was someone’s birthday and they were all going to meet the ‘someone’ in question. There was Phil, climbing the stairs with something big in his hands, and the walls were dark then too, and the suspense in the air was palpable, but all Sapnap could think about back then was when the party was over and they could all go home.

He was thinking the same thing now, really. When would this party be over, and when could he go home? He was thinking this along with the age-old question of, ‘What the hell is going on?’ It was totally the wrong time for it, too. 

Hysterical sobs came from above them, echoing through the tower like bells in some kind of fucked up cathedral, and the spiral staircase on the inside of the tower went up as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the glow of light that Sapnap had noticed earlier, or the gloom far, far below them. He was still on the landing, his back to the entrance to the tower that they had found after harpooning the other-Phil down, but the stairs lead in two ways, lead them in two directions, with two secrets to uncover. The sobbing came from above, but as Sapnap looked up at the impossible distance to climb, and then down at the impossible distance to descend, he saw it. 

A flash of orange and white, bright in the darkness downstairs and impossible to miss, and Sapnap had to strain his neck to try and see it clearly. But then a noise, a clink, clink, clink, which Sapnap struggled to hear in the distance between him and the thing he saw.

But then it shot, collided, and Sapnap screamed out in pain. 

He collapsed on the stairs, hidden again behind the banister as his hands gripped his thigh around the crossbow bolt sticking out, bleeding out and with the exit wound on the other side of his leg. 

Phil ducked too, instantly, coming closer and looking at the injury as if he could do anything now that it was already embedded inside him. From so close, if he had a moment to think about it, he could smell the sickening tang of gunpowder on his hair.

The other man took one look at Sapnap’s thigh and pulled his bag around from his side. He pulled a bottle free, shoved it into Sapnap’s hand and then stood. He reared his hand back and launched the trident at full speed at the distant figure he had seen below. It clanged, thundered, and the other-Fundy screamed. 

It was in Sapnap’s hands now. He bit his tongue, thought better of it, and then grabbed the leather strap of his bag and shoved it into his mouth. Potion uncorked, hand gripping the wound tight, and Phil retrieving the trident, he grabbed the crossbow bolt and yanked it free. 

He hadn't realised how cold his hands were until the warmth of his blood bled between the fingers. The potion tasted like mint, fizzed like lava, and the sting in his thigh numbed with the effect from the dock leaves instantly. He could feel the hot sting of tears slide down his face, brushing over his cheeks and wetting his lips. 

The trident shattered against the wall again as a crossbow bolt whizzed past his head, and Phil ducked down again. The sobbing was louder, almost like it was closer, but nevertheless the tower loomed above them. Sapnap was silent as he pulled a bloodied hand from his leg, and let the barbed arrow roll out of his hand, making a wet sound as it made contact with the floor.

“Can you walk?”

Sapnap’s leg twitched, the ache flaring and fading as the potion took further effect inside him, and he dragged his leg up so that the knee was under his chin, hissing. He moved it some more, the ache getting number with each pass, and he turned to Phil and nodded. An arrow landed in the wall above them, knocking the mortar free from the bricks and crumbling to the floor. 

“Will you take care of that guy?” Phil asked, his voice strained but still trying to remain calm, “If you distract him, kill him maybe, I can fly up and just see. I’ll come back if it’s more danger, or if you call my name.” 

“Yeah,” Sapnap said with gritted teeth, getting back up on his haunches so that he wasn't on the floor. Another bolt smacked into the stone above their heads, going wide and through the slats in the banister to the far right. 

“You ready for this?”

“Yep. Go!”

Sapnap crawled forwards, sliding down the stairs with his sword in one hand and his bag in the other, stopping the contents inside from clattering together. He could hear the plink, plink of the crossbow being drawn again, but had yet to catch a glimpse of the rusty brown fur from before. The trident slammed into the wall a few feet away from him, shattering the stone into pieces but leaving it still standing. He could hear feet shuffling on the floor, feel the sharp throb in his thigh from where it was still knitting itself back together, smell the musk and chill of old stone. 

Other-Fundy was looking up at where it last saw Phil, and Sapnap lurched. 

He grabbed the crossbow, it misfiring and hitting the wall behind him, and other-Fundy hissed and spat like a spider, its eyes soulless and face malformed. It scratched at his neck, its other hand pulling at the hilt of the sword. But Sapnap was stronger, even with the burning in his thigh, even with the nails on his neck, and he forced the sword forwards. 

It sunk into its shoulder, the garbled screaming coming from other-Fundy becoming crazed as its mouth snapped open and closed like a trapdoor; nothing like the Fundy Sapnap knew. They struggled, the sword still lodged into its left shoulder and refusing to come free as he pressed it inwards, but other-Fundy was leaning away from him, drawing back, with its legs colliding with the banister. 

Sapnap stepped back. The other-Fundy clawed, wobbled, and fell. 

He couldn't hear a thud at the bottom, but he did hear Phil light a screaming rocket and go soaring upwards towards the light and the tears, now safe from being shot down. Swallowing his stomach, Sapnap looked over the edge. There was no sight of other-Fundy at the bottom, only the gaping wide void and the spiral of stairs leading into the gloom. 

But he saw a doorway, with a thin, watery light coming from inside. 

It might have been nothing, but it could also hold everything. Sapnap moved. 

The stones in the wall became mossy as he reached ground level again, then started to become damp as he continued downwards. He stopped when the taste of blood came to his mouth again to down half of his last health potion, then stopped when he found another bottle. Fifteen or so metres from the doorway with the milky light he downed the luck potion that might not do anything at all. It tasted like lemons, or green tea, or both, but it washed away the ill feeling in his throat. Blood dripped from the scratch marks on his neck. He drew his sword again.

The doorway arched over him. Save for his own breathing, the area was quiet. He glanced left. Right. 

He ducked just in time for an axe to lodge itself above his head. 

Sapnap didn't even think about it, didn't even care to register the other-Sapnap. It was blank faced, teeth exposed, with an indescribable fury behind the eyes. It looked like it wanted to ask, to scream or yell, to torture it out of him; ‘how did you get here?’ its eyes asked, ‘how did you get here without me knowing?’

Sapnap swung his sword, slicing, but the other-Sapnap raised the handle of the axe to block it and lodged it in the handle, rendering the attack dead in its tracks. Like a horse he kicked at it, missing, then thrashing to knock the knee out from under the other-Sapnap. It went down hard, smacking the kneecap against the stone floor, and it raised its head just in time to be relieved of it. 

Other-Sapnap was dead.

The body fell limp to the floor. 

Breathing, just breathing, he sucked air through his teeth as he looked into his own, dead eyes. This one was better, more put together than the others. It looked almost like him, if not for the texture of its skin, but even then it was only noticeable now that he looked. The eyes even had whites in them, this time, unlike both the other-Phil and the other-Fundy. In the thrill of the fight, it felt almost like he was fighting himself. 

It hadn't even made noise. He didn't even know if it sounded like him. He didn't know if it was better or worse that it died silent, so he would never have to know what he, it, sounded like in death. You tend not to focus on your own voice when you are in pain, and he didn’t see why anyone would ever want to hear it.

He stared down at the body. The other-Fundy seemed like it felt pain, going so far as to make noise, even if other-Phil only twitched when it was pinned to the floor. Everything about it, the way its fingernails were cut, the length of its hair, the colour of the embellishment on its shirt, were all identical. He couldn't stop staring at it, at himself. 

But there wasn't time. The screaming further up in the fortress was getting louder, coming across in words rather than noise, like whoever, whatever was yelling at Phil. 

He moved, but he didn't need to for long. 

It was only a moment later that he saw him. 

“George?”

He looked up, his mouth open, his neck sore looking and raw, and his stupid glasses were crooked. 

“Sapnap!” 

Their hands grabbed at one another through the bars of the cell, holding their cold flesh against one another’s like they were expecting to never touch another living thing again. George’s fingernails were a collection of filthy, black half-moons against Sapnap’s shirt, clinging to him and pulling him closer. 

“God,” George said, “you look awful.”

Sapnap grinned, knowing that his teeth were filthy too. 

“Get me out of here?” George asked, and Sapnap was already retrieving the axe from other-Sapnap’s corpse. The hand fell limply to the floor as Sapnap limped back, deliberately not looking at his opposite. George didn't seem so inclined to ignore it, even if he couldn't see the body from the cell.

“Was that…?”

Sapnap nodded. 

“Dead.” 

“You have my axe,” George stated.

Sapnap brandished the one he had found, “The other-me was holding it.”

“No, no, on your back.”

Sapnap reached back and pulled it forwards, comparing the two – identical, save for the colour and the pattern on the handle. He glanced up at George and shrugged, with little else to do, and put the original onto his back.

George took a step backwards, and since there wasn't a door or any other means in or out of the cell, Sapnap raised the axe to the iron. But when the axe made contact it sliced through, exposing a steel grey but definitely wooden interior to the bar, which was completely dry to the touch. It would have been too tough to break by hand. He kept going, easily breaking the separation between them down into a few sticks, and George tentatively stepped through. 

“Okay,” George said, “okay, what’s the plan?”

Words, screamed at the top of someone’s lungs, came from further up. Sapnap tilted his head at the way he came in and grabbed George’s arm. 

“We need to hurry,” he said, pulling him over the dead body, “Phil is up there.”

“Phil, you mean Philza?”

He nodded, “Yeah, we found the others.” 

“Is Dream here? In this world?”

Sapnap didn't know how to respond, so he just gripped the wound on his leg to stop it from opening up again and dragged George to the stairs. 

Up, up and up, towards the bright light coming from above and to the crying noises. As they got closer, Sapnap could hear Phil too, but what he was saying was garbled and difficult to distinguish among the other noise. It was like static, the closer they got, and the other noises – their breathing, the footsteps, everything – got garbled along with it. Finally, they reached the final plateau. 

George gasped, and Sapnap could just stare. 

Wilbur was dead, but other-Wilbur mourned him like it knew him, like it was aware of the crime against humanity it had committed and the gall to execute and pretend to regret it. Phil was standing off to the side, so far out of his comfort zone that he was white as a sheet, the trident’s tip resting on the floor beside him, and someone else’s blood on his hands. None of them moved, no one said anything. The other-Wilbur didn’t even notice their arrival. 

George moved forward. 

“Wilbur,” he said, “Wilbur, look at me.”

But Wilbur didn't say anything, he was dead. The other-Wilbur didn't move either, but didn't try and lunge for George like all of the other tree-people had so far, so Sapnap stood to the side. He watched as George reached out a hand, but before Phil or Sapnap could say anything – they both stepped forward to try and stop him – the other-Wilbur was shuffling away.

“No,” it said between tears, “no, no. Please. Don’t touch me.”

Sapnap could only stare as the other-Wilbur looked up at George. It had the most complete, the most humanoid face of all the tree-people they had seen so far, with actual, sorrowful tears trailing down its face and mixing with… with the bandages around its waist. Wilbur was dead, blood across the floor like an animal half-eaten and face as gaunt as any other dead man, but this other was almost the same. It looked similar in terms of humanity to the other-Sapnap, with a living, moving face.

It, with more capability than he, George or Phil were showing because of the shock, mourned. 

Sapnap reached behind him, grabbing George’s axe from his back and lowered it to the floor, letting George see that he was leaving him with the weapon without letting other-Wilbur notice, and he walked gently to Phil. He looked like he had been crying too, but now he seemed just a little red-eyed and confused. Wilbur was- had been, one of Phil’s closest friends. 

From the plateau they stood on, they could see around for miles and miles, at ash trees and cornus and the blanket grey sky. A room broke the circle at the top of the tower, which the light spilt from in an intense, unnatural way. Their shadows were pitch black and long, spreading out around them in a cone and interrupting the light for metres upon metres at a time . The further the light got from the room, the greener it became, and all of them were washed by it, recoloured, retextured. He and Phil looked into it, unseeing for a moment, but then, at once, they moved. 

Once they were a decent enough distance away, Phil spoke up in a hushed tone. 

“Mate,” he said, “I don't – what the fuck is going on?”

Sapnap could only shrug. “I know a guy,” he tried to say, “who… is like that.”

“I do too, it’s Wilbur and he’s dead.” 

Phil sounded like he would be the next one to start crying, like he already had and was barely holding himself together. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear thin, Sapnap might have joined him if not for the movement that flashed in front of the light. 

It was almost too quick to see, a movement of quicksilver that slivered in and out of their vision, and Phil stopped like a cat looking into the mirror. He was ready. They were both ready. Weapons drawn before them, they inched forwards. 

The portal looked just like the other one, from the way it was shaped to the way it was floating in the air with the branches around the outside, the difference being the three figures standing before it, two of which hid behind the first. 

“Uh,” Phil said when he realised that, for a matter of fact, they were not already dead, “Hey, Techno.” 

Other-Techno didn't even move at the mention of its name. The two figures behind it, ones that looked a lot like Tommy and Tubbo, sunk back further behind their brick-wall of a protector. The other-Techno was holding a diamond longsword the length of Sapnap from foot to shoulder, and he kept it before him with the tip to the ground like he was the lonesome guard for the portal. Other-Tommy and Other-Tubbo didn't seem aggressive, and even as the other-Techno stood before them as a sort of sworn protector, other-Tubbo slipped away, its face too difficult to see with the bright light of the portal behind it. It disappeared into the oppressive darkness which made up the rest of the room, lingering where Phil and Sapnap couldn't see it, waiting. 

Other-Techno opened its massive mouth, the tusks coming free from its jaw and slipping apart to reveal its definitely carnivorous teeth, and it said calmly to them;

“You should go.”

It’s voice was no lower than Techno’s, no higher, no more or less exuberant, or more or less angry. It didn't seem to hold emotion as it said it, but the other-Tommy did sneak further from around other-Techno to look at them better. Sapnap could see how the other-Tommy’s face was crooked, mouthless, and its hands like the roots of a tree. Out of the four of them, none of them moved. 

“You should go,” other-Techno said again, and this time Phil spoke up.

“We need to get our friends,” he reasoned, “I’ll, uh. I’ll go and get them.” 

Phil shot to the door as other-Techno drew its sword and screeched like a pig possessed, but Sapnap jumped between the two of them, his hands up to hold the other-Techno back. In hindsight, he probably would have died if other-Techno actually struck him, but the colossal tree-person stopped before him, its great maw pointed down at him as it looked with its beady black eyes. Other-Tommy had run away and was nowhere to be seen. 

“Wait! Wait, we’ll go, you just need to let us get something. We left it behind.”

Other-Techno frowned, a near perfect parody of the actual Techno that Sapnap knew. 

“Is it all the dead bodies of my friends?” other-Techno asked sarcastically, and Sapnap short circuited. 

“Your,” he paused, “your friends?”

“You and your others,” other-Techno spat, “killed my friends. You can keep your sorry lives knowing you murdered them. You can keep them and remember it and suffer for it.”

He let out a deep and heavy breath, “my others?”

“You’re all others, just copies of us. We just want to live, it’s not our fault you’re created in our image and we’re expected to kill you to keep living.” 

This… other-Techno seemed far more complete and whole than any of the others so far, which Sapnap was getting real sick and tired of thinking, and save again for the skin texture and what it was made out of, it and Techno would be indistinguishable. And even with the skin difference, it was only noticeable when he looked for it. Sapnap took a step back, but other-Techno looked actually, genuinely upset. 

“How come we’ve never come across one another before?” Sapnap couldn't help but ask. He could hear George and Phil coming closer, still not in the room but around somewhere. There was only so much time to get all the information out of the other-Techno that he could. 

“When two infinite worlds are created parallel to one another, they’re bound to cross over eventually,” it sneered, but then it sobered, “we will meet again, when I die here and I reach the world with the rest of them. There will always be more worlds, more of my friends and I. You killed them, you didn't even think about it. They had a reason to kill you, they had a reason to fear you, to want you out of here, to get the other-Wilbur from your world into ours to keep our friend alive. Even if he doesn't remember us, or like us, he’s alive and that matters to us. We had reasons to protect our friend. What reason do you have for murdering them?” 

Sapnap could only open his mouth and close it again. Phil, George and… other-Wilbur came through the door. The two of them were helping keep the latter upright, and they looked up at other-Techno like an indifferent god who could choose to let them live or die. In some ways, it was. 

He wasn't really an ‘it’ though anymore.

“You hold the sword of my dead friend,” other-Techno said to Sapnap, “And I want you to carry it with you, feel its weight, and remember that it’s not  _ yours. _ ” 

Other-Techno, with his eyes like a deep river and his body-length sword in hand, stood to the side and let them pass. Without a word, George picked up Wilbur’s side and, with his axe in his other hand, he and Phil guided Wilbur to the portal. Sapnap stared up at other-Techno. It was an act of benevolence, of declaring himself better than the rest of them and knowing he was in the right, yet still letting Sapnap and the others leave without a repercussion. 

Other-Techno didn't say anything more and, in the now silenced castle, let them go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 and the epilogue tomorrow at 7pm ;)


	11. Chapter 10: Undine

Rain. 

A cold and steady drizzle came from above him and the sound of it hitting leaves was the only thing he could hear. When Sapnap opened his eyes, he realised something else which set the scene apart from anything else he had been through before.

His thigh hurt, his back was stiff, his head ached and he was thirsty enough to just lie back and open his mouth to the rain falling off the birch trees above, not caring enough to look around and instead just blinking as the water fell into his eyes, blurring his vision. He could hear it patter on the grassy earth below him, feel it soak through his shirt both front and back, and he listened to whatever it was stir on either side of him.

“Uh,” he heard someone say, “guys?”

He really didn’t want to get up, but the moments, memories, came back in a series of flashbacks – the world, the moors, the woods and the winter. George, Dream, hibernation and spring. Then there was the water, the bonfire, Wilbur and then their disappearance. He remembered the smell of rain, the feeling of stinging nettles laying their claim to his shins, and Techno, poor Techno, dead. He remembered the feeling of being watched by someone without eyes, of being knowingly followed without anyone to call for help, and the memory of Dream standing over the body of his friend like he was tempted to eat him. He had to swallow his bile, forget about the ill feeling of seeing his own dead body, and address the situation before it spiralled further out of his control.

So Sapnap leaned up, avoiding moving his leg from where it still sent flares of pain through his leg and abdomen, and he blinked at the sight of it all before him.

It had been Phil who broke the silence, but George was the first one to stand, walking with the legs of a new born foal over the small clearing to Wilbur, who was lying in a ball near the treeline. Phil and Sapnap watched him move, before looking at one another. The fear, the adrenaline, the dehydration and wariness was dragging them down to earth, and while Sapnap felt like he could sleep for a week, Phil was anxious. He itched at his hair under his terrible hat, he pulled at his clothing, and he got up. 

“Did the other-Techno say anything important mate?” He asked Sapnap as he adjusted his bags around his waist. He looked like he desperately wanted Sapnap to say no. 

Sapnap swallowed. “Uh,” he said, “stuff about… us killing the other guys.”

“Right, well. This looks like our world,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, “So I’m going to,” he pointed up, “I’m going to look around. To see if the others are also… here.” 

Sapnap couldn't find it in him to argue, too drained to do much more than nod at Phil, watch as he lit the fuse on the rocket and went firing up into the atmosphere. The broad pair of dark wings marked themselves against the thunderous sky, and his trident lit up with lightning as he soared, picked a direction, and lit another rocket to disappear. 

Wilbur still wasn't saying anything, and while Sapnap could hardly see Wilbur’s skin he could still tell, if only a little, that he wasn't the friend he knew before. Sapnap could only hope that Wilbur didn't turn out a bit off, or as untrustworthy as Dream had appeared to be. George still waited by Wilbur’s side, but when the other man (tree-person?) didn't do anything other than twist up tighter, George could only shake his head and sigh, before he looked at Sapnap with those hidden eyes, unreadable behind his glasses. They reflected the clouded texture of the sky.

“What  _ did _ the other-Techno say to you?” 

“Nothing important,” Sapnap was quick to say, “Nothing, well, nothing we need to think about now. What did my… ‘other’ say to you?”

“When?”

“In the prison place. It was keeping you alive, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Uhm. It was… something along the lines of him wanting to eat you.”

Wilbur, if it was possible, curled up further.

“... George, there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“What?” George seemed impatient, but he couldn't tell if it was from being questioned or from the rain, which continued in Phil’s absence. 

“Why did it need to eat me in the first place? And why is Dream so much more than them?”

George sucked on his bottom lip. Anxious, Sapnap noted, and it made the assumption that George and Dream had been lying, or intentionally obscuring the truth, more set into stone. Sapnap could already assume that what he knew was the truth, but he had to get it out of George to be sure.

“He…” he waited, finding the words, and Sapnap was tempted to take the opportunity to do so away from him.

“He?”

“He, he found his own human equivalent.”

“But I killed him when he found me.”

“You killed Dream?”

“No, the other-me. The only me is me, I made sure of it.”

George paused again, his hands wringing together. 

“Dream found his own human equivalent before he met me.”

Sapnap drew back, his back straightening as he assessed George. He was avoiding Sapnap’s eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything, about the revelation.

“Right,” Sapnap said instead, “and what does that have to do with the tree-people wanting to eat us?”

“I– I… I think– Sapnap I don't have anything for certain here.”

“Take a guess. We’ve got nothing else to do while we wait for Phil.”

“I think, from what I managed to ask your copycat, that they’re like… not whole without us. Their mind is incomplete or something, and they take our minds and put it in theirs. The other-Sapnap called them a host, and us, well, basically a parasite.”

“That doesn't explain why they were being such a bunch of assholes about it.”

“What?”

The weather made it difficult to tell what time it was, whether or not they were in danger of night hiding just around the corner, and also which direction they were facing. In the birch woods, there wasn't a horizon to look for, no thin strip of light that changed colour as the day aged like milk, and all they had was the clearing of grass with walls of trees on all sides, the tiger-stripes on the bark making it impossible to tell how near or far each tree was. They’d either have to wait for Phil to come back and ask him, or assume there was no time at all. Sapnap asked the next question, figuring that their situation couldn't get all that much worse. 

“Do you think they could have asked?”

George gaped, his face quickly going from shock to rage.

“Oh yeah, ‘hey guys, our bodies are dying, can we eat you really quick to make us, like, both basically immortal?’”

Sapnap blinked.

“Who– What’s this about them dying?”

“Huh?”

“You said they’re dying, their bodies. And what do you mean ‘basically immortal’?”

“It’s all an assumption!” George put both hands up, “It’s all, like, guess work! Why else would they want us?”

“I understand the whole, ‘Ooh let’s put their human brain in our plant bodies’, but what made you think  _ that?” _

George paused, as if he was debating telling the truth. Sapnap glared at him, harsh.

“Dream says he doesn't age now.”

“Now?”

“Since becoming a tree-person. I don't know if he meant that his tree-person part aged before or not, but… I don't see why they wouldn't. The other-Sapnap also said something like, ‘our bodies are stronger but capable of less’, but I don't know what that  _ means. _ I don't know anything, I’m as in the dark as  _ you!” _

Sapnap looked up at the sky, then down at their scattered belongings. When they went through the portal, all their things came loose from their hands or bodies and fell around them in a big circle, with only his– the Netherite sword being within reach. He looked down at himself, at the still tree-rusted shirt and even the green stains from being beside the water, what felt like a lifetime ago, when the night was cool and the leaves wet. His trousers were soaking wet, shiny, and he had no doubt that his hair was in tangles. George, other than being a bit scraped up and the blood around his neck, seemed okay. Wilbur was still off to one side, motionless. 

But the other-Techno’s speal was playing on his mind. 

“Do you… do you think they could have been seeking us out to save their lives?”

“No, because surely their lives would be lost if we- or, if their brain was replaced?”

“But wouldn't the, if– Let’s say I was dying.” 

“ _ Are _ you dying?”

“No, but let’s say I was. Would you rather me have, like, a brain transplant and save my life and I have a different personality, or let me die completely?”

George was confused, he could see it in the way his brows furrowed and his mouth opened slightly as if to ask, ‘what the fuck’. But Sapnap noticed the exasperated slope of his shoulders. George wouldn't be entertaining his hypothetical questions for much longer. 

“I don't  _ care  _ about that _ , _ Sapnap. Haven't we got better things to think about? Or to do?”

“I think that was what the other-Techno was on about.”

“What?”

“You know how the other-Fundy looked all messed up? Misaligned?”

George didn't respond.

“I didn’t see,” his voice went quiet, “other-Wilbur before. But what if the messed-up stuff going on with other-Fundy was, I don’t know, a sign of decay or something, like how humans get all wrinkly. What if in order to stop other-Fundy from dying, it had to eat the real Fundy and then it would still be a tree-person but no longer with the tree-person’s personality?”

“That’s what I was  _ saying – “ _

“ _ Yeah _ , but the other-Techno was acting like we’d taken everything from them, or like I’d fucked up our own stuff along the way.”

There was a pause, tenuous, and thunder grumbled overhead, close. The wind picked up. Rain continued to fall.

“You’re saying they come find us because they’re going to die? They want to do the impromptu brain surgery to save themselves?”

Sapnap couldn't do anything but shrug and say, “Maybe. If it’s true, it’s like we’d killed his friends but also, I guess, ourselves.” 

Another pause, longer, and interrupted by the trees rushing together in the strong breeze. Sapnap could see Wilbur still shivering from behind George, foetal, and his coat looked soaked with a mixture of the rain and blood, which was turning the blue and white of his coat a deep rust colour, not dissimilar to the colour from the dead ash tree still on his t-shirt. George had some staining around the collar of his shirt, too, a dark band between blue fabric and pale skin. He was spiralling, thinking in circles, unable to do much more than look at the nightmare they’d just escaped, touch the grass, and think of the half-pitying, half-furious look on the other-Techno’s face just before he let them. 

It was true, then, that for them there was nothing left in the other world worth returning for. If Techno, or Tommy or Tubbo, or (he assumed) Niki wanted to risk their lives to become someone who they weren’t before, then the option would still be there, but for himself, George, Phil and Fundy, it was gone. 

If the immortality thing was true, then Wilbur and Dream would be spending a long, lonely eternity together. 

“Uhm,” George interrupted his thoughts, looking around the space and at anywhere other than Sapnap. “What happened to Dream?”

Sapnap blinked at him. He blinked long and hard at George as if it would change what he just said to him, but as time passed he realised that what he heard was indeed what George was going with. 

“Uh,” Sapnap tried to find the words for ‘I didn’t trust that maniac one bit and left him in a cell with people who wanted him dead’. There wasn’t a nice way to put it, and his pause made George turn away from Wilbur completely and face Sapnap with a furious look on his face, a bit like an angry, soaking wet kitten. Sapnap knew better though. George was no kitten and he still had his axe.

“Dream was… acting off. I couldn't tell what was up with him.”

George frowned. His glasses were streaked with rain and his hands were coated in mud. He looked like he had fought his way through a patch of brambles and had only just come out the other side, and honestly, Sapnap could relate. George’s neck was still bleeding slightly from god knows what, since it looked like someone had tried and failed to slit his throat, almost intentionally scarring him instead of killing him. Sapnap’s own neck was a litter of scratches from the other-Fundy, only a few of which had broken skin, but all of which throbbed like they were going to stay for a long time. Another roll of thunder came from above. 

“What happened to your neck?” Sapnap asked instead of trying to avoid the question. 

George reached up to touch it without thinking, and he hissed as his muddied hands made contact with the raw looking flesh. He looked at his fingers, checking for blood but he couldn’t see it among the dirt. He lowered his hands again. But George was still interrogating him, coming forwards on his hands and knees to sit a few feet away on his haunches, waiting, watching him.

“Was he ill?” George tried to guess.

“George I–“ he stopped, swallowing, but he looked into George’s eyes as he said the rest, “I didn't trust him. I did at first, I really did, but he just… some of the stuff he did I wouldn't trust even if you did it.” 

“What did he do then?” George crossed his arms and leant back on his ankles, almost in a challenge, “what did he do that scared you?” 

“You don't believe me?” Sapnap said instead of addressing the shot to his pride. There wasn’t time for pride, even if George thought there was.

“Not without reason.” 

“We found Techno, almost dead,” Sapnap said, feeling the rain turning him colder at the memory, “Dream wanted to leave him behind. For dead.” 

“And he said that?”

“He actually left him behind, George, he did that.” he spat, “He didn't help me bandage him up, he didn't help me carry him to safety, he just left to satisfy his own curiosity.”

“Dream wouldn't–“ George swallowed, like speaking was irritating his throat, “do that. He wouldn't.”

“He did. He – Dammit George, do you really not care? Your friend,” he spat, “left our friend of  _ years  _ behind to die. He wouldn't do it with you, maybe, and honest to god I hope he never gets to try and do it with me.” 

“But is that it?” George dared to ask, “Just that one thing?”

“He didn’t give a  _ shit _ that I was out here alone before you and him appeared,” Sapnap continued, and he could feel the months of anger and bitterness coming to a head, the days of fear and of no sleep. “He was mildly interested at best. He thought it was more a  _ story _ than my own life. He dared assume that I didn’t give a shit about you, even though we were both trying to find you together. It was like I was an inconvenience to him, a drag or a loose end. He didn’t even believe me when I said that there might be more like him, more tree-people. He thought I was making it up to get back at him. Why  _ should  _ I have trusted him?”

“Sapnap,” he was annoyed now, “I trust him. He saved my life – “

“I never said that you can't trust him! It’s that I’m the one who won't! He saved your life, yeah, and he almost fucking ended mine! He isn't, like, socialised, and we got into an argument and, George, I was scared. I don't care if you keep trusting him, he’s proven himself to you and he respects you, but when it's the three of us it's like he wants me to disappear. He acts like I’m some great foe keeping you away from him, and honest to god I thought he was going to draw his sword in that argument because he didn't know how to talk to me properly. He doesn’t even show his face, how  _ can _ I trust him?”

“You're asking me to choose?” George asked, incredulous. He slapped his hands down on his thighs as he gaped with disbelief at Sapnap, like Sapnap was the one pulling strings and weaving webs, and like he didn't believe a word he had just said. 

“Between me and Dream?” Sapnap asked, and while George nodded he was interrupted, “No, I’m not asking you to choose. You already have. Don't try and deny or sugar coat it, George, don't insult me like that, because I know you’ve already chosen. You can take your psycho of a boyfriend and go. Just leave me alone.”

“Sapnap – “

“No, I’m done here,” Sapnap stood, “Leave me alone. I’m done.”


	12. Epilogue: The Mind Stays Up All Night

The world moved by slowly. 

Technoblade watched as the trees rustled in the wind around him, his sword by his side and his mouth pressed into a thin line as he watched his friends move around their settlement below him, unaware that they were being watched by him. He sniffed the air, smelling the onset of rain before he could see it, and being able to detect the musty scent that filled the forest before the onset of winter. One of the buildings had smoke coming out of the chimney, and it blew away from where he was standing, unscented. 

It had been no small feat, moving their previous settlement to be in the same area as Sapnap’s, George’s and Dream’s own area, but ultimately they decided it would be safer, if not wiser, to be together rather than apart. It was easier to see and move around the spruce forest than the birch one, partly because of visibility and partly because of the hight of the trees, and Techno used it to his full advantage. 

Techno’s house was three stories and in the hollow of an old tree, perhaps a ten minute or so walk away from the central pit which Dream and Sapnap had buried their livelihood in when they went off into the unknown world, and Phil’s house was visible from his own, the second most outer most house with Techno’s being the first. Tommy and Tubbo shared until they were able to make their own and settle on who was keeping the current one, and Techno was just glad not to be sharing with them anymore. It was hard not to be glad when Tubbo set the old house on fire eight times in the span of three seasons, and Tommy kept half finishing DIY projects before leaving them to rot in the rain.

Their house was chaotic, slumped to one side and being held up with a mixture of string and old sticks. The fireplace was stone, but was angled very slightly so that the wall behind it was scorched, and they still hadn't fixed it. Tommy’s bed was the whole floor, and Tubbo’s was a shelf in the kitchen. Their garden was filled with a mixture of carrots and wood sorrel, and while they ate both, Techno didn't want to be the one to tell them the latter was poisonous. 

Phil’s house was a small, cramped thing made of stone and a single story, circular and using the base of a tree as a pillar to hold the whole thing upright. He kept a scarecrow outside, one that held his old coat and had a rotten pumpkin making up its face, while the inside of his house was filled with jars. He was a survivalist at heart, even if he lived in houses now, and the lingering trait of being a hoarder wasn't necessarily a bad one to keep. Techno still ended up knocking something over every time he visited.

Niki and Wilbur shared, with Fundy taking residence with them after Techno kicked him out. Wilbur… was doing okay, it seemed. He was quieter, less confident and refused to look in mirrors. He started to wear gloves, kept his shirt and coat on at all times, and never looked at the arrow scar on his chest directly. Niki helped him heal it, but it didn't need potions or bandages or even stitches. It eventually became just a mark on him, a small circle on the ribs that moved when he did. Wilbur didn't talk as much, even if Techno needed his glasses to tell the difference between Wilbur from before and now, and no one dared mention the incident. He had only talked to Techno about it once, when he had been feverish from eating something that wasn’t meat, and Techno tried his best to forget about it.

None of them really talked about it. None of them really wanted to.

Fundy had gone quiet too – he felt guilt, heavy and indescribable, for actions that he had not committed. They all told him that it wasn't him, that he didn't do anything wrong, but when a stranger wears your face and tries to kill your friends it's hard not to associate with them. Wilbur didn't blame him either, even if Fundy’s copy-cat did drag him into it, but they still avoided looking at one another directly. 

Sapnap was in the same house as before. He kept his doors closed and rarely opened the blinds. He washed his hands every time he entered his house, and locked the door when he left. Techno had seen him once since moving there, and they hadn't said anything. If he had to guess, Sapnap was still thinking about the other-Techno, but he didn't seem to mourn other-Phil or the other two. If anything, it seemed like he regretted leaving the other-Techno alive. It was impossible to tell. 

Techno heard a whoop above him and he took a step back from the railing to look, and Phil landed on the side of his house with an ‘oof’, stepping forward and away from the ledge as if he didn’t have the elytra to catch his fall. He had a fishing rod in one hand and a bucket of fresh fish in the other, with a small net keeping his catch in place. 

“Mate,” Phil landed on the roof next to Techno, his elytra folding neatly behind him as he turned and smiled, “You looked lost in yourself, just then.” 

Techno raised one shoulder and let it drop. “Just thinking,” he said.

“It’s hard not to,” Phil responded, “I’m just glad it wasn't all of us, and I’m glad you're still alive, too.” 

He couldn't help but smile slightly, yet still his eyes were still. Techno looked over at Phil, “Do you think it will ever go back to normal?” he asked. 

Phil’s face fell slightly, and the tiredness behind his friend’s eyes was more noticeable, more prominent in the way his shoulders slumped and how his arms lay limply at his sides with the hook of the fishing rod brushing the wooden floor. He looked older, somehow, despite only a few weeks having passed. 

“No,” Phil said, matter of fact, “No, I don't think it ever will. Sapnap is still wandering around like a loose part, Wilbur is always going to be…” he swallowed, “is always going to be different, and George probably won’t be back to normal since, well, Dream still hasn't come back.” 

Techno nodded slowly.

Dream had left three days ago, two weeks since they had come back from the ‘Other-Side’ (as Sapnap took to calling it) and thirteen days since George had insisted Dream’s innocence at the cost of Sapnap’s faith in him. Dream hadn't seemed different, which sent alarm bells through all of them – how could something like that happen and not affect him? How could Dream claim nothing too bad happened? George and Dream had explained it as a case of him not being through the same thing. He hadn't been chased around some pitch-black caves and hadn't been forced to take a final stand against unknown enemies. He hadn't been trapped in waterlogged catacombs for three days straight, and he didn't have to face down himself in a foreign world, trapped with seemingly no way out.

He hadn't been kidnapped, imprisoned and scarred in the same place on his body where his ‘other’ had been killed. He hadn't been forced down and eaten, only to become the thing that ate him. 

Really it was understandable that Dream wasn't affected in the same way as the rest of them, he didn't flinch at the sound of a bow being drawn or pale at the thought of dimming the lights, but his only real repercussion of their distrust was him not liking any of them. He only had eyes for George, only asked him questions, only responded to him, and really didn't like Sapnap. It raised questions in everyone’s minds, ones that George definitely wouldn’t like.

“Is it better,” Techno asked, “For Dream to come back or stay gone?”

He could see them all from the balcony, could see Phil’s house, could see Fundy harvesting the blackcurrant bushes, see Tommy and Tubbo badly making pots out of too wet river clay, see Wilbur and Niki talking quietly on the roof of their house, and see Sapnap walking south towards the river. He could see George looking towards where Sapnap was going, but he didn't move, and just watched until he disappeared. 

George turned away when Sapnap was gone and went back inside. 

“I don't know, mate,” Phil said, “There’s only one way to find out.” 

Technoblade could only nod. Only one way to find out, and only one way forward. 

It was out of their hands now, and the coming autumn would not be an easy one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE!
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading! I understand this story is a bit all over the place, but it's really difficult for me to just not sit you all down and be like, "so, this is what I'm on about." I hope the last chapter and the epilogue explain some of the questions/feelings people had about chapter 9, and I also hope you enjoyed reading this over all! I know some of you will be disappointed that Dream didn't turn up in the last few chapters, but again, I hope Sapnap's explanation in chapter 10 explained that through a little bit. 
> 
> This work is, currently, the longest fic I have ever written, and is the longest complete fic on my account. While 35,000 may not seem like tonnes to some people, I really didn't want there to be plot holes galore so I took my time in writing and posting it, with editing bringing it up from 30k to 35k, which was my original, planned for word count. 
> 
> But yes. THANK YOU!! thank you so much for the wonderful comments, kudos, bookmarks, whichever, whatever you have left so far! Some of you have been here since chapter 1, continuously checking back for updates and keeping an eye out, which I really want to thank you for. I especially want to thank those of you who commented basically every day - I really looked forward to your comments and I anticipated them and appreciated greatly. They are my life blood, my bread and butter, and I love you for leaving them. 
> 
> As for the final question; YES, there will be a final part to this 'tree-person' world the group have found themselves in. "ICE BRIDGE" (working title) is currently in the planning stages, and I'll be working around uni so please don't expect anything too soon.
> 
> Happy Halloween! Stay save, message me when you get home, and keep an eye out for the next update. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://turtle-ier.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> HERE WE GOOOOOOOO!!!!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Archipelago is currently on 5 chapters and while I'm planning on their being ten (plus an introduction and an epilogue) I'm not sure how it will go. I'm just starting my time at university so there won't be any updates to this piece until I have officially finished writing it. The introduction is here as a placeholder: watch this space! 
> 
> This work will start slowly though - the introduction is just being published because I LOVE LOVE LOVE all the comments which have been left on my works. I check them every day so thank you to whoever has left such wonderful words for me so far! 
> 
> As always, please do be sure to leave comments/kudos/bookmarks. They really are the driving force for everything that I write.
> 
> I don't support the shipping of real life people, which is why this piece is set in an AU based more so on their personas rather than them as irl people. As far as I'm currently aware, everyone in this fic are fine with fanfiction being written about them at this time, but if shipping content is considered incorrect by the creators in the future, or just fanfiction at all, this work will be deleted. The last thing I want to do is offend them or make them uncomfortable. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @turtle-ier  
> Find me on Twitter: @Turtle_ier


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